De Nemours shrugged1 his shoulders, raising whimsical eyebrows2 at the slim young giant towering above him.
“Mon cher, one cannot put the lady into two words. Voyons—she is, as our Alfred so charmingly puts it, blonde like the wheat——”
“Oh, rot.” The ardent3 voice of the British representative was curt4 to the point of rudeness, and De Nemour’s smile became exquisitely6 courteous7. “I don’t care whether she’s an albino. She’s the American representative on this committee, and I’m interested in her mental qualifications. Is she intelligent?”
“Intelligent! Ah, my poor friend, she is far, far worse.” His smile grew reminiscent as he lit his cigarette. “She has a wit like a shining sword, and eyelashes of a truly fantastic length.”
178 “And every time her eyes shine you think it’s the sword,” commented O’Hara bitterly. “God, this is hideous9! I can see her sitting there chattering10 epigrams and fluttering dimples——”
“You do Mrs. Lindsay an injustice,” said another voice quietly, and O’Hara swung around with a slight start.
“Oh, Celati, I clean forgot that you were there. I thought that you had never met the lady.”
“Unfortunately for me, you are entirely12 correct. But last night I came in after the dinner for some bridge, and I watched Mrs. Lindsay with great interest, with great admiration13, for more than half an hour. There was a most fat Senator from the South talking to her, and she was listening. I say listening, mark. In this great country the most charming of women feel that they have already acquired all desirable information and wisdom and that it is their not unpainful function to disseminate14 it. I find that it makes intercourse15 more exciting than flattering. But Mrs. Lindsay was—listening.”
“You mean to say that she said nothing at all in half an hour?” O’Hara’s tone was flatly incredulous.
“Oh, si, si, she spoke16 three times—and if one may judge by the human countenance17, I dare to179 wager18 that that most fat Senator thought that never woman spoke more wittily19 or wisely.”
“And we are to have the jewels?”
“But surely. She said after the first ten minutes, ‘Oh, but do go on!’ and after the next, ‘But what happened then?’ and after the third ‘Good-night—and thank you.’ May I have a light, De Nemours? Thanks!”
“And those—those are the epigrams?” O’Hara threw back his head and laughed—a sudden boyish shout, oddly at variance20 with his stern young face.
“Ah,” murmured Celati, a reminiscent and enigmatic smile touching21 his lips, “you should have heard her voice!”
O’Hara’s smile vanished abruptly22. He came perilously23 near scowling24 as he stood staring down at the inscrutable Latin countenances25 blandly26 presented for inspection27. De Nemours permitted a flicker28 of genial29 appreciation30 to warm his cold eyes, the tribute of a highly distinguished31 connoisseur32. Truly, this young Irishman, he was of a magnificence. No collector of beauty in all its forms could remain unmoved by the sight of that superb head—that more than superb body. Praxiteles Hermes turned gypsy! One of those Celts with obviously Spanish blood running hot and cold through their veins33. The cool appraisal180 hovered34 for the moment on the verge35 of interest—flickered out. De Nemours was quite definitely convinced that not one man in a thousand was deserving of interest, and he had found little in an extremely varied36 experience to shake his conclusions.
“An exquisite5 voice,” he agreed pleasantly. “It will turn our dullest statistics to madrigals. The gods are merciful.”
O’Hara swung his chair to the table, protest bitter in his stormy gray eyes and on his quick tongue. These damned foreigners!
“You don’t seem to grasp the situation. We are here to settle matters of vital urgency, not to conduct a salon37. Our reports on the various insurgent38 activities throughout our countries are to be test cases for the world. We’re not only to report conditions but to suggest solutions. Think, man, think! This room may be the laboratory where we will discover the formula to heal a world that’s near to dying. Can you turn that into an epigram or a jest?”
“No,” said De Nemours softly, and he looked suddenly very tired and very old, “that is no epigram, Monsieur O’Hara—that is no jest. Ah, my country, my country.” His voice was hardly above a whisper, but in the cold and bitter eyes there was something that wailed39 aloud.
181 “Yes, my country,” O’Hara retorted fiercely, “but more than that. There are five members of this Committee—not four.”
“Not four?” Celati’s level voice was suddenly sharp.
“Not four. There will be represented at this table Great Britain, France, Italy, the United States—and Humanity. The greatest of these, gentlemen, will have no voice.”
“Au bonheur!” commented De Nemours affably. “It, unlike Mrs. Lindsay, might not sing us madrigals.”
O’Hara brought his clenched40 fist down on the table with a gesture at once despairing and menacing. “Now by the Lord,” he said, his voice oddly shaken, “if this woman——”
The door into the hall opened very quietly, closed more quietly still, and Delilah Lindsay stood facing them, her hand still on the knob.
“I knocked twice,” she said softly. “The woodwork must be very thick.”
O’Hara rose slowly to his feet. Celati and De Nemours had already found theirs.
“Good evening,” he said, “it’s not quite the hour, I believe.” He was fighting an absurd and overwhelming impulse—an impulse to reply with perfect candour, “The woodwork is not thick at all. Were you listening at that door?”
182 For a moment, hardly longer, Delilah stood quite still. It was long enough to stamp on every mind present an indelible picture of the primrose41-yellow head shining out against the dark panels; therefore, long enough for all practical purposes. She released the door-knob, smiling very faintly.
“It is unfortunate for a man to be late,” she replied, “but unpardonable for a woman. We have so much time of our own to waste that we must be very careful not to waste that of others. Bon soir, De Nemours.”
She crossed the room with her light, unhurried tread, and stopped, serenely43 gracious, before O’Hara.
“You are the British representative, are you not? It is very stupid of me, but I don’t believe that I have heard your name.”
“You have heard it a good hundred times,” thought the British representative grimly.
“Madame, permit that I present to you Mr. O’Hara.”
“Mr. O’Hara?” Her smile was suddenly as winningly mischievous44 as a child’s. “That’s a grand name entirely for an Englishman.”
O’Hara’s eyes were ice gray. “I’m no Englishman, Mrs. Lindsay. But some of us in Ireland hold still that we are part of Great Britain though the Colonials may have seen fit to forget it.”
183 The velvety46 eyes lifted to his were warm with sympathy and concern. “That’s splendid of you; we hear so much bitterness amongst the Irish here, and somehow it seems—ugly. After all, as you say, no matter what she may do—or has done—England is England! But I am distressed47 to hear that there has been disloyalty elsewhere. You think Canada—Australia?”
“I think neither. It was of other children of England that I was thinking, Mrs. Lindsay—ungrateful and rebellious48 children.”
“Oh, how stupid. Egypt, of course, and India. But, after all, they are only adopted children, aren’t they? Perhaps if we give them time they’ll grow to be as loyal and steadfast49 and dependable as you yourselves. Pazienza——”
“I was not——”
She raised a protesting hand, gay and imperious. “No, no, don’t even bother to deny it. You must be discreet50, I know—indeed, indeed I honour you for it.” She turned to De Nemours, the sparkling face suddenly grave. “But we must not be forgetting; we are here to discuss more vital matters than England’s colonial policy, vital as that may well be. Will you forgive us—and present my colleague from Italy?”
“Mrs. Lindsay, Signor Celati.” Both De Nemours and Celati were struggling with countenances184 not habitually51 slaves to mirth, but the look of stony52 and incredulous amazement53 on O’Hara’s expressive54 visage was enough to undermine the Sphinx.
By what miracle of dexterity55 had she turned the tables on him, leaving him gracefully56 rebuked58 for triviality—he, the prophet and crusader? And by what magic had she transformed his very palpable hit at the recalcitrant59 Americans into a boomerang? He drew a long breath. This woman—this woman was so unscrupulously clever that she could afford to seem stupid. That rendered her pretty nearly invulnerable. The stormy eyes grew still—narrowed intently—smiled.
“Mrs. Lindsay is entirely right,” he agreed. “Let us get to business; Heaven knows that we have enough of it to get through! Mrs. Lindsay, we have gone over a certain amount of ground in your unavoidable absence. I regret——”
“I, too, regret it,” she said quietly. “But it is, as you say, unavoidable. I was greatly honoured by the Government’s choice, but it was impossible for me to drop the Oregon investigations60 at that stage. If I could have the minutes of the previous meetings——”
“We have no minutes. It has been decided61 to dispense62 with the services of a stenographer63, as the matters handled are of really incalculable delicacy64.185 Each of us, however, keeps an abstract of the proceedings65, which we check up together, in order to prevent any possible misunderstandings. These are at your disposal, naturally.”
“I see. Then if it will not be too much trouble, I’ll run through yours. It will only be necessary to see one lot, if they have been checked, of course. Shall we begin where you left off, then? And shall I take this chair? I’m quite ready. I left my hat and cloak and such feminine trappings downstairs. What is under discussion?”
“I’ll have the report for you at the next meeting,” said O’Hara. “We were thrashing out the situation in Rome. You think that the Pope will influence the Blacks to vote against the commonist element, Celati? That’s unusual, isn’t it? A distinct return to temporal power?”
“Unusual, yes. A return to temporal power? Possibly. But the Vatican contends that it is a spiritual and social matter rather than a political matter. It seems——”
For a moment—for more than a moment O’Hara lost track of the even, unemotional voice. He was watching, with a blazing and concentrated curiosity, the face of the American representative. Mrs. Lindsay was listening to the Italian with rapt interest, but O’Hara could have sworn that it was the same interest, fascinated and indulgent, which186 an intelligent small child bestows67 on a grown-up telling fairy tales—an interest which whispers “It’s so pretty—let’s pretend it’s true!” She looked almost like a small child as she sat facing him across the darkly shining table; almost like a small boy. Her thick, soft hair was cut short and framed her face like a little medi?val page’s—straight across the low white forehead, curling strongly under about her ears. The blue jacket with its white Eton collar and narrow cuffs68 was boyish, too. And the chin—O’Hara pulled himself up, frowning. He was mad! His cousin Norah was boyish, if you like, with her honest freckled69 face and puppy eyes, and red hands—but this small smooth creature could clip her shining hair to its roots—it would only betray the eternal feminine more damningly. No stiff collar would ever do anything but accentuate70 the velvety darkness of her eyes, the pure beauty of the wistful mouth. Possibly that was why she wore it! He caught back a grim smile as the velvet45 eyes met his.
“It’s desperately71 awkward, of course,” said the voice that De Nemours had accurately72 described as exquisite. “What solution would you suggest, Mr. O’Hara?”
“I am not yet prepared to offer a solution,” Mr. O’Hara informed her a trifle stiffly. What in187 the name of Gods and Devils had Celati been talking about, anyway?
“But after all,” urged Mrs. Lindsay, “it comes down to a question of two alternatives, doesn’t it? Which seems to you the lesser73 evil?”
“I prefer to wait until we hear a little more about it.” His back was against the wall, but he thoroughly74 intended to die fighting.
“More about it? What more is there to hear?” Her amazement was so wide-eyed that it seemed almost impossible that it was not genuine. But if you had put thumb-screws to him, O’Hara would have maintained that in some inexplicable75 manner the small, demure76, deferential77 fiend across the table was fully57 aware of the fact that he had not been listening—and fully prepared to make his unsuspicious colleagues aware of it, too.
“Not clear?” repeated Celati, his imperturbable79 calm severely80 ruffled81, “what do you say, not clear? You find my English at fault, possibly—certainly not my explanation. No child could do that.”
“Surely not,” agreed Mrs. Lindsay, and her voice was as soothing82 as a cool hand, “I confess that it struck me as—well—limpid. But perhaps Mr. O’Hara will tell us just what part of it he did not follow?”
188 “Put it,” said O’Hara, with something perilously like hatred83 blazing in his eyes, “that I did not follow. We are simply wasting time. Will someone repeat the alternatives?”
Mrs. Lindsay’s gravely solicitous84 eyes met the look unflinchingly. “Surely. All this is simply wasting time, as you say. It comes down to a question as to whether it is preferable for the Italian Government to countenance or discountenance the Papal entry into politics. In the present case it is naturally an asset, but it is possible that it might entail85 serious consequences. I put it baldly and clumsily, but I am trying to be quite clear.”
“You are succeeding admirably,” O’Hara assured her. He was dangerously angry, with the violent and sickening anger of a man who had been made a fool of—and who has richly deserved it. “As you say, it is—limpid. But why not a third alternative? Why should the Italian Government do anything at all? Why not simply lie quiet and play safe? It would not be for the first time.”
“Mr. O’Hara!” Celati was on his feet, white to the lips.
Mrs. Lindsay stretched out her hands with a prettily86 eloquent87 gesture of despair. “Oh, really!” she said quietly. “Is this kind of thing necessary? We are all working together for the same purpose—a189 purpose that has surely too much dignity to be degraded to such pettiness. Mr. O’Hara, I beg of you——”
“It is not necessary to beg of me.” He leaned across the table, something boyish and winning in his face, his hand outstretched. “I say, Celati, I’m no end of a bounder; do let me off this once—I’m bone tired—haven’t slept for nights, trying to think of ways through this beastly mess. I don’t know what I’m saying, and that’s Heaven’s truth. Is it all right?”
“Quite. We are, I think, all tired.”
“Men,” Mrs. Lindsay murmured gently—“men are really wonderful. What two women would have done that?”
O’Hara considered her for a moment in silence.
“Is that a tribute you are paying us?” he inquired quite as gently.
“Why, what else?” Again the soft amazement.
“I was seeking information. It struck me as ambiguous.”
Mrs. Lindsay smiled, that enigmatic smile, wistful and ironic88. “It is undue89 humility90 on your part, believe me. But shan’t we get back to the matter in hand? Monsieur De Nemours, what is your opinion?”
“I think there is much in Mr. O’Hara’s suggestion190 that the Government should not be over-precipitate91,” replied De Nemours pleasantly. He was horribly bored; politics, unless they concerned France, bored him almost beyond endurance, but his ennui92 was somewhat alleviated93 by the fact that a very pretty woman was asking him a question. “If silence were maintained for a few weeks, it might well be——”
O’Hara was listening—fiercely. He was sure that he could smell violets somewhere; why didn’t the woman take her hands off the table? They lay there, white and fragile and helpless, like broken flowers. Why didn’t she wear a wedding ring? Why—he jerked his tired mind back savagely94 to De Nemours’ easy, fluent voice, his tired eyes to the worn but amiable95 mask that the Frenchman substituted for a face. Why didn’t he stop talking?
“We, in France, have been learning tolerance96 to God as well as to man,” he was saying. “Possibly before the war we have been drastic, but the truly remarkable97 revival——”
France again! France and Italy and Oregon—on and on and on—the clock on the mantel clicked away the minutes ruthlessly, the precious minutes that belonged to a dying world. It was striking eleven when Mrs. Lindsay rose.
“Then that’s cleared up, I think,” she said.191 “We begin the regular routine to-morrow morning, don’t we? Half-past nine? And here?”
“The house has been placed at my disposal,” replied O’Hara formally. “I have placed it at the Committee’s. It has proved a convenient arrangement.”
“Are the night sessions usual?” she asked.
“Usual? I don’t know.” He looked at her wearily; how could any one emerge from that harrowing bickering98 and man?uvering so fresh and untouched and shining? “We have them when it seems necessary—how often should you say, De Nemours?”
“Never mind.” The cool fingers were touching his; she was going. “I will keep my evenings free, too—I was simply wondering what to do about some invitations. But nothing else counts, of course, does it? Do get a good rest; you look so tired. Good-night.” She smiled, nodded the golden head graciously, and was gone.
O’Hara stood gazing blankly at the closed door for a moment—then he swung across the room, flung the windows up with a carefully controlled violence, and stood leaning heavily against its frame, his shoulders sagging99 suddenly, his tired young face turned to the stars.
“You find it too warm?” De Nemours inquired courteously100.
192 “No—I don’t know. Those beastly violets——”
“Violets?” De Nemours waited with raised brows.
“The first time the poison gas came over at Ypres, the chap standing66 next to me said, ‘Funny—there’s a jolly smell of violets about.’ Violets—God!” His voice twisted—broke. But after a minute he continued casually101: “Rotten trick to have your senses go back on you like that, what? They’re the little beggars Nature has given us for guards and watchmen and here one of them turns traitor102 and instead of shrieking103 ‘Careful—careful—the ugliest poison ever found is touching you!’ it whispers ‘See, it smells of violets—oh, England—oh, Spring.’ Damned traitors104, the lot of them—for ever telling us that poison is sweet!”
“Why, so it is,” murmured De Nemours. “Many and many a time. But where were the violets to-night, mon ami?”
O’Hara jerked about incredulously, “What! you didn’t smell them? Why, every time she moved the air was thick with them!”
“Ah, Youth!” Irony105 and regret tempered the low laughter. “One must be young indeed to smell violets when a woman moves!”
Celati stirred slightly. “A most remarkable woman, this Mrs. Lindsay.”
193 “Remarkable, indeed. There is something about her fine and direct——”
O’Hara stared at him aghast. “Direct? Man, but you’re mad! The woman’s tortuous106 as a winding107 lane—and it’s a dark place it leads to, I’m thinking.”
De Nemours yielded once more to indulgent mirth, “Pauvre ami, those nerves of yours play tricks with you! Mrs. Lindsay is a woman with an exceptional mind of which she makes exceptional use. She is a beautiful woman, but alas108, she does not remind you of it. She is entirely devoted109 to her work, she shows tact110 and courage, a rare discretion111, a fine simplicity——”
“Oh, God!” There was something very like despair in O’Hara’s mirth. “Simplicity, by the Almighty112! Because she wears blue serge instead of white lace? Why, I tell you that she trails yards of chiffon behind her when she goes, that her eyes are for ever smiling at you over a scented113 fan, that there’s always a rose in her hair and a kiss on her lips. She’s just as simple as Eve—and she still has fast hold of the apple!”
Celati eyed him a trifle sternly. “You object to women in politics, Mr. O’Hara?”
“Object? My soul, no! My mother and sister are in it up to their eyebrows, and making a rattling114 good job of it, too. But when they play the game,194 they play it. They leave more trappings than their hats and cloaks downstairs; they let you forget that they are women, and remember that they are human beings.”
“I find masculine women—distasteful.”
“I never said that they were masculine,” O’Hara retorted sharply, “I said that they were first and foremost human beings. Any other attitude is fatal. I tell you that this woman cares nothing in the world for our game; she is playing her own. And she is playing with loaded dice115.”
“And what game is she playing, pray?”
“The oldest game in the world,” said O’Hara. “Antony’s dark-eyed Egypt played it, and that slim witch, Mary Stuart, and the milliner’s exquisite minx, Du Barry. Only they played behind silken curtains, with little jewelled hands and heads and words. They fight with other weapons nowadays, but the stakes haven’t changed since Antony lost a world and won a kiss.”
“And the stakes?”
“Why, you are the Stake,” said O’Hara. “And I—and Celati there; they are playing for Power—and Man is Power—and Man, poor fool, is their toy. Little Sisters of Circe—they have come out from behind their pale silken curtains and stripped the jewels from the small hands and perfumed195 heads and covered their shining shoulders with harsh stuffs and schooled their light tongues to strange words—and we are blind and mad, and call them comrade!”
“Tiens, tiens!” murmured De Nemours, “you interest me, O’Hara. I confess that I had failed to find this sinister116 glamour117; but you open pleasant vistas118 in a parched119 land!”
Celati rose, a little stiffly. He was a heavy man, and oddly deliberate for a Latin.
“It is late,” he said. “Are you coming, De Nemours? Till to-morrow morning, Mr. O’Hara; a rivederla.”
“Good-night,” returned O’Hara. “At nine-thirty, then. Good-night.”
He stood staring down absently at the polished surface of the table for a moment or so after the door had closed, and then crossed to the open window. The stars were shining brightly—but they were very far away and cold, the stars. There was something nearer and sweeter in the quiet room behind him, nearer and sweeter even than on that spring day at Ypres. He turned from the window with a gesture at once violent and weary. Those accursed violets! He could smell them still.
196
II
“You are taking Lilah Lindsay in to dinner,” said Mrs. Dane. “I am kind to you, you see! She’s the most exquisite person.”
“Exquisite,” O’Hara agreed politely, but there was something in his voice that caused Mrs. Dane to raise her beautifully pencilled eyebrows. There was no doubt about it, her distinguished guest was in no transport of enthusiasm as to her adored Lilah. Rumour122, for once, was correct! She glanced toward the door, bit her lip, and then, with a swift movement of decision, she turned to the high-backed sofa, her draperies fluttering about her as she seated herself.
“I am so very glad that you came early,” she informed him graciously, and O’Hara thought again of her astonishing resemblance to a humming-bird—small and restless and vivid, eternally vibrating over some new flower. “I so rarely get a chance to talk to you—you are most impressively busy, aren’t you? Do you see a great deal of Lilah?”
“Mrs. Lindsay has attended all our conferences for the past few weeks.”
“Oh, of course, but you can hardly get to know her there, can you?”
“Possibly not. However, I have had to content197 myself with that. She is a very busy woman, of course, and my own time is not at my disposal.”
“I suppose not,” murmured Mrs. Dane mendaciously123. She supposed nothing of the sort. “But you are to be pitied, truly. She is a most enchanting124 person; all the tragedy and cruelty of her life have left her as gay and sweet and friendly as a child. It’s incredible.”
“She has had tragedy and cruelty in her life?”
“Oh, it’s been a nightmare—nothing less. She hadn’t been out of her French convent six months when she married that beast, Heaven knows why—she had every other man in Washington at her feet, but he apparently125 swept her off them! Of course, he had a brilliant future before him——”
“Of course,” murmured O’Hara.
“What do you mean? Did you know Curran Lindsay?”
“Never heard of him,” O’Hara assured her. “But do go on: what happened to the beast’s future?”
She shrugged her white shoulders distastefully. “Oh, he died in a sanitarium in California several years ago, eaten up with drugs and baffled ambition.”
“And languishing126 away without his favourite pastime of beating the lovely Mrs. Lindsay black and blue, I suppose?”
198 Mrs. Dane controlled a tremor127 of annoyance128. She disliked flippancy129 and she disliked grimness; combined she found them irritating to a really incredible degree. “Curran never subjected Lilah to physical maltreatment,” she said coldly, “he subjected her to something a thousand times more intolerable—his adoration130.”
“So the beast adored her?”
“He was mad about her. You find that unlikely?”
“On the contrary,” replied O’Hara amiably131, “I find it inevitable132. But what happened to his brilliant career?”
“Oh, he was crazily, insanely jealous—and some devil chose to send him an anonymous134 letter in the middle of a crucial party contest when his presence was absolutely vital, saying that Lilah was carrying on an affair with an artist in California, where he’d left her for the winter. He went raving135 mad—threw up the whole thing—told his backers that they could go to Hell, he was going to California—and he went, too.”
“Ah, Antony, Antony!” O’Hara said softly.
Mrs. Dane stared at him, wide-eyed. “Why, what do you mean? Have you heard the story before?”
“It sounds, somehow, vaguely136 familiar,” he told her. “There was a woman in Egypt—no—that199 was an older story than this. Well, what did the beast find?”
“He found Lilah,” replied Mrs. Dane sharply. “The artist had promptly137 blown his brains out when she had sent him about his business, as she naturally did. But Curran’s contest was lost, and so was Curran. He might as well have been Benedict Arnold, from his party’s point of view. He went absolutely to pieces; took to drinking more and more—then drugs—oh, the whole thing was a nightmare!”
“And the artist blew his brains out, you say?”
“Yes, it was too tragic138. Lilah was almost in despair, poor child. He left some dreadful note saying that exiles from Paradise had no other home than Hell—and that one of them was taking the shortest cut to get there. The newspapers got hold of it and gave it the most ghastly publicity,—you see, everyone had prophesied139 such wonderful things about his future!”
“Still, he had dwelt in Paradise,” murmured O’Hara.
“Dwelt? Nonsense—he said that he was an exile!” Mrs. Dane’s voice was distinctly sharp, but O’Hara smiled down at her imperturbably140.
“Oh, come. It’s a little difficult to be exiled from a spot where you’ve never set foot, isn’t it? No, I rather fancy that Mrs. Lindsay found consolation200 in the dark hours by remembering that she had not always been unkind to the poor exile—that in Paradise for a time there had been moonlight and starlight and sunlight—and that other light that never was, on sea or land. It must have helped her to remember that.”
Mrs. Dane dropped her flaming eyes to the fan that shook a little in her jewelled hands. Perhaps it was best to hold the thunder and lightning that she ached to release; after all, it was clearly impossible that he should actually mean the sinister things that he was implying about her incomparable Lilah! It would be an insult to that radiantly serene42 creature to admit that insult could so much as touch her. She raised defiant141 eyes to his mocking ones.
“Yes, that’s possible; Lilah is divinely kind to any beggar that crosses her path—it isn’t in her to hurt a fly, and she must have been gracious to that wretched boy until he made it impossible. But here is Monsieur De Nemours and the lady herself! Let’s go into the next room, shall we? Lilah, you lovely wonder, you look sixteen—and young for your age, at that. Let’s see, the Havilands aren’t here yet, and Bob Hyde telephoned that he and Sylvia would be late——”
O’Hara followed the swift, bird-like voice into the next room. By and by it would stop and he201 and Lilah would have to find words to fill the silence. What words should he choose? He was too tired to be careful—too tired to think; what devilish Fate was thrusting him into a position where he must do both?
She was talking to De Nemours, the shining head tilted142 back a little, the hushed music of her voice drifting across the room to him like a little breeze. She had on a black frock, slim and straight—not a jewel, not a flower, but all of spring laughed and danced and sang and sparkled in that upturned face. O’Hara’s hand closed sharply on the back of the chair. What if he were wrong—if this were all some ugly trick that his worn-out nerves were playing? After all, Lucia Dane had known her for years, and women’s friendships were notoriously exacting144. What did he know of her save that she was lovely? Ah, lovely, lovely to heartbreak, as she stood there laughing up at De Nemours—at once still and sparkling, in that magical way of hers, like sunshine dancing on a quiet pool. Was it some devil in him that made him suspect the angel in her? Sometimes he thought that he must be going mad.
He had been so sure of himself; no woman was to touch his life until he had moulded it into its appointed shape—and then he would find a clear-eyed comrade who would be proud and humble145 in his202 glory—some girl, wise and tender and simple, who would always be waiting, quiet-eyed and quiet-hearted when he turned his tired steps to home—someone in whose kind arms he would find peace and rest and quiet. For he would be Man, the conqueror146, and he would have deep need of these. So he had decreed, during the hard years that brought him to this place where, if he stretched only a little higher, he could touch the shining dreams—and behold147, a door had opened and closed, and a yellow-haired girl had come in—and his ordered world was chaos148 and madness. He knew, with a sense of profoundly rebellious despair, that he was out of hand; his nerves had him, and they were riding him unmercifully, revenging themselves richly for all the days and nights that he had crushed them down and scorned them and ignored them. They had him now, this arrogant149 young dreamer, out to save a world—they had him now, for all his dreams!
“Mr. O’Hara, aren’t you taking me in to dinner?”
He started as violently as though she had touched his bare heart with those soft fingers of hers.
“You were a thousand miles away,” said the fairy voice, and the hand rested lightly on his arm. “I hate to bring you back, but they’re all going in, you see. Was it a pleasant country that you were playing in?”
203 “Pleasant enough,” he told her hardly. “But it’s poor sport looking down on a lost inheritance from the edge of a precipice150. Did I seem to be enjoying it?”
“You looked as most of us feel on the edge of a precipice, I suppose—a little terrified, and a good deal thrilled. Was the lost heritage a pretty place?”
“As pretty as most lost places,” said O’Hara.
Lilah Lindsay leaned toward him, pushing the flowers between them a little aside.
“But why not turn your back on it?” she asked, her eyes laughing into his, friendly and adventurous151. “You might climb higher up the mountain, and find some spot so strange and beautiful that it will make the little garden in the valley seem a dull spot well lost.”
“I have already turned my back,” he said.
“I think that I am glad,” said Lilah Lindsay. “You see, you do not belong in the valley. Will you tell me something, Mr. O’Hara?”
“What is there that I can tell you?”
“Oh, many things. I’m not wisdom incarnate152, I know, but I have enough wits to realize that stupidity has you fast in his clutch if he can once get you to stop asking questions. I shall go down to my grave with ‘Why?’ still on my lips, I promise you!”
He felt as though some gigantic hand had released its grasp about his heart. If she would only keep the laughter dancing through her lashes8 he was safe.
“No, no; it’s inexhaustible, if properly handled.” Her voice was dancing, too. “I came across an old formula once; it’s served me well many and many a time, when I’ve seen a resentful and suspicious look in some man’s eyes that says, ‘Young woman, you are leading me to believe that you know more than I do. Young woman, you are boring me.’ I can drive that look from any man’s eyes in the world!”
“With what alchemy, little magician?”
She leaned closer again, and suddenly he smelt154 the violets—the room was full of them—the world itself was full of them!
“Why, I ask him to spell a word; any nice, simple word like ‘cat’ or ‘dog,’ so that he will be sure to be able to spell it, poor dear! And in thirty seconds the sky is blue, and the birds are singing, and God’s in his heaven and woman in her proper place. It’s white magic, truly!”
“Truly,” O’Hara laughed back at her, “and truly, and truly, I’m believing you.” He felt light-headed with happiness—oh, surely, this was clear205 candour that she was giving him; all this lovely nonsense was cool water to his fever. Lucia Dane was right—the rest was ugly madness. “But what was the nice simple word that you were going to ask me to spell?”
“It’s rather a long and difficult word, I’m afraid,” she said gravely. “I was going to ask how you, an Irishman, came to be the British Representative in our Council?”
For a minute all the old, sick suspicion clouded the gray laughter of his eyes—his face grew hard and still—then the unswerving candour of the eyes lifted to his smote155 him to the heart, and he smiled down reassuringly156.
“I suppose that it does seem damned queer. But you see, I happen to be British first and Irish second. Does that seem impossible?”
“No,” she replied slowly, “but it’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so. It’s infernally lonely work, I can tell you. You see, I was born and bred in Dublin; all my family think I’m a black traitor. They’re hot against England, and hot against me. They won’t believe that Ireland is my heart’s heart. But England—oh, she’s the power and the glory—she can lift the Irish high and safe out of their despair, though it’s blind from weeping the poor souls are—they’ll never be seeing it.”
206 The Irish in him was burning in his eyes and on his tongue—she stirred and nodded.
“Yes,” she said quietly, “I suppose that our Southern men who fought for the union met with just such hatred and misunderstanding. And yet they were the ones who loved her best, the proud and lovely South—they who were willing to bear her hatred that they might save her soul.”
“Oh, it’s the wonder you are for understanding!” His heart was shaking his voice, but the callous157 and greatly bored gentleman on the other side of Mrs. Lindsay suddenly raised an energetic protest.
“See here, Lovely Lady, are you going to leave me to commune with my soul for the rest of the evening? For the last ten minutes I’ve been trying——”
O’Hara turned to the impatient young woman on his left, the ardour still lingering in his face. It lingered so convincingly that he proceeded to thrill her clear through to her small bones; she spent the next few days in a state of dreamy preoccupation that fairly distracted her adoring husband, and continued to cherish indefinitely the conviction that she had inspired a devastating158 if hopeless passion. It was lucky for her that she never knew that all that pulled O’Hara through the next ten minutes was a strong effort of the207 imagination, by which he substituted a head of palest gold for the curly brown one and a voice of silver magic for some rather shrill159 chatter11. And then, suddenly, it was in blessed truth the silver voice.
“You see, I was specially160 interested in your feeling for Ireland because of the situation touched on in your record. That’s serious, isn’t it?”
“Serious to desperation.”
“Surmise?” His voice was suddenly weary. “No, no, it’s the rotten truth. All the facts are there, even the names of the leaders in the plot.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
“I can be sure.” There was a grim certainty in his tone that left little room for doubt.
“You use spies?”
“Spies? You might call them that. There are three ring-leaders in the conspiracy162; the youngest was my room-mate in college.”
“I see.” After a moment in which she sat quite still, clear-eyed and pensive163, she asked, “Now that you have all the details of the plot, why don’t you crush it?”
“To do anything now would precipitate the bloodiest164 kind of civil war again. We must move with the greatest care; God help Ireland if wind of208 it reaches the other party. They’re straining at the leash165 like mad dogs already.”
“England must have great faith in your discretion,” said Lilah Lindsay, and O’Hara’s face suddenly flamed like the Crusader’s of old.
“God grant it’s not misplaced,” he said simply. “It’s sleepless166 I’ve gone these many nights looking for a way out—and now I think we’ve found one that’s neither too hard nor too weak. It’s been weary work hunting it. You see it’s not only Ireland we must help; it’s all the little, unhappy countries lost in the dark, and like to kill themselves before they find the light. Sometimes it breaks the heart in your body to watch them.” His eyes were sombre with all the useless pain in the world.
“Then don’t let’s watch them for a little while,” she said gently. “I should think shame on myself for making you talk shop this way; I do, I do! But it’s hard to shake it off, isn’t it?”
“Not when you smile like that.”
Lilah Lindsay smiled like that again.
“Now and then,” she murmured, “you are just about six years old.”
“Why did you cut off your hair?” demanded O’Hara, and his voice was a trifle unsteady.
“Why?” She brushed it back with light fingers, gay as a child once more. “Oh, it used to take me209 hours to wind it about my head and coil it over my ears; it was way below my waist, you know, and I found it very distracting, to me and—other people. Don’t you like it this way?”
“Below your waist,” he said. “Oh, then you must be a real Fairy Princess, all shining white and gold.”
“But don’t you like it this way?” asked Delilah.
“It’s beautiful,” said O’Hara. “But in every foolish heart of us there’s a lady in a tower to whom we call ‘Rappunzel, Rappunzel, let down your hair’—waiting to go climbing up the shining locks to her heart—and Paradise.”
Delilah rested her chin on linked fingers, her eyes at once dancing and demure. “How lamentably167 old-fashioned you are for all your radicalism168. Shall I let my hair grow?”
“I’ve always thought of it, somehow, as a—a symbol,” she said, her eyes fixed170 on the coffee that she was slowly stirring. “When I cut it off, I said to each shining length, ‘There you go, Folly171—and you, Frailty—and you, Weakness——’”
“And did you never think that your namesake must have cried of old to other shining locks ‘There you go, Strength?’”
The new Delilah looked suddenly enchantingly210 mischievous. “Well, but that was not her own hair! It belonged to a mere172 man who chose a very vulnerable spot to keep his strength. You have learned wisdom since Samson.”
“I wonder!” said O’Hara.
“I’ll remember what you have told me,” she laughed up at him. “You seem to hold that woman’s strength, too, is in her hair. Perhaps—perhaps you are right, after all. Will you come to see me one of these days, and try to convert me?”
They were all standing; he rose, too, his eyes holding her.
“When may I come—to-morrow?”
She smiled back at his swift urgency—then bent173 the primrose head in assent174. O’Hara held back the curtains for her to pass through.
“To-morrow,” he told her, his eyes still lit with that incredulous wonder. “To-morrow is a great way off!”
III
“I’ll just wait here,” he said to the pretty maid. “I’m not dressed for a party. You might tell Mrs. Lindsay that—that when she’s not too busy, I’d like awfully175 to speak to her for a minute.”
“Very well, Mr. O’Hara.” Her voice had all the impersonal176 blankness of the well-trained servant, but once on the dark stairs she shook her211 glossy177 head dismally178. She had come to know him well in the past weeks.
“The Saints preserve the poor man, it’s fit for a long rest in a pine box he’s looking, and that’s no lie at all! And it’s my fine lady upstairs that is after painting shadows black as the pit under his poor eyes, or my name’s not Bridget O’Neill. It’s a wicked world entirely, and that’s what it is!”
O’Hara stood watching the door through which she had vanished. In a minute—in five minutes—in ten minutes—someone else might stand framed in that door; he could not tear his eyes from it, but stood staring, hands thrust deep into his pockets, very quiet, with fever playing behind the tense stillness of his face. The painted clock on the mantel chimed the hour out twelve times, each stroke a mocking peal179 of laughter. His shoulders sagged180 abruptly and he turned from the door. What was the use?—she wasn’t coming. She would never come again.
He crossed to the mantel slowly, noting all the studied grace with desperate tenderness. To whom could it belong but Lilah, the little room that he loved, demure and gay—intimate as a boudoir, formal as a study? Those slim hands of hers must have placed the bright flowers in the low bowls of powdered Venetian glass, and lined the bookcases with deep-coloured books, set the small212 bright fire burning with pine cones181, and lighted the waxen candles that were casting their gracious light all about him. The satin-wood desk looked austere182 enough, with its orderly stacks of paper, its trays of sharpened pencils and shining pens—but the lace pillow in the deep chair by the fire was a little crumpled183, there was a half-burnt cigarette in the enamelled tray, and trailing its rosy184 grace shamelessly across a sombre cushion was a bit of chiffon and ribbon, the needle still sticking in it. It could not have been so long ago that she had been here; all the dainty disorder185 spoke eloquently186 of her still.
Oh, thrice-accursed fool that he had been to risk even for a second the happiness that for weeks had been fluttering closer to him—the happiness that only a day before had almost closed its shining wings about him! They had been looking at some of her old snapshots of a motor trip through Ireland, laughing together in the enchanted187 intimacy188 which they had acquired over the begoggled, be-veiled, and beswaddled small creature that she assured him was her exquisite self—and then she had come upon a snapshot that was only too obviously not Ireland. It was of a vine-hung terrace, with the sea stretching far out in the distance, and the sunlight dappling through onto the upturned face of a man—quite a young man, in213 white flannels189, swinging a careless tennis racquet and laughing in the sun. For a minute her sure fingers had faltered190; there, very deliberately191, she had picked it up, tearing it into small pieces, dropping them deftly192 into the dancing fire.
“Here’s one of us having tea by the road,” she had continued evenly, but O’Hara had not even heard her. His mind was far away, sick with apprehension193 and suspicion, all the old dim terrors suddenly rampant194.
“Lilah—it’s unspeakable of me to worry you with this—but I can’t get it out of my mind somehow. Will you tell me—will you tell me if they ever found out who sent that anonymous letter to your husband?”
She had stared back at him with strange eyes set in a face from which every trace of emotion had suddenly been frozen.
“The letter? No.” The small remote voice was utterly195 forbidding. “You are quite right; it is cruel to remind of those times. What difference can it possibly make to you?”
He had fought desperately to find some words that would show her what need his sick soul had of assurance, but he had found none. He could only stare at her dumbly, his wretched eyes assuring that it made, somehow, a huge difference.
“But why?”
214 And he had cried hopelessly, “Oh, I may be mad—I think I am—but I can’t get it out of my head. I keep wondering whether you—if you sent——”
“I?” She had cried out as sharply as though he had struck her, and then sat very still, fighting her way back to composure, inch by inch. When she spoke again her voice was very low, incredibly controlled.
“You are implying something that is too monstrous196 for sanity197. May I ask what motive198—what possible motive, however abominable—you think that I could have had for wrecking200 my husband’s career?”
He had whispered, “Oh, God forgive me, what motive had Antony’s Egypt? What motive have any of you for flaunting201 your power over us? You crack the whip, and we go crashing through the hoop202 of our dreams, smashing it—smashing it for ever.”
“How you know us!” His heart had sickened under that terrible small laugh, cold as frozen water. And she had turned to the door, her head high. “If you can think such things of me—if you can even dream them—your presence here is simply an insult to us both. I must ask you to leave. And unless you realize the grotesque204 madness of215 your accusation205, I must ask you not to come here again. That releases you from dinner to-morrow night, naturally. I don’t think that there is anything more to be said.”
No, there had been nothing more to be said—nothing. He could not remember how he had got himself out of the house—he could not remember anything save a dull nightmare of vacillation206 and despair, that had finally driven him back to the little room, whipped and beaten, ready to capitulate on any terms—ready for any life that would buy him a moment’s happiness. And now—now she would not come, even to accept his surrender. He turned from the mantel violently, and felt his heart contract in swift panic. A man was watching him intently from the other end of the room—a man with a hateful, twisted face—he caught his breath in a shaken laugh. Those damned nerves of his would wreck199 him yet! It was only his reflection in the cloudy Venetian mirror; the firelight and candlelight played strange tricks with it, shadowing it grotesquely—still, even looked at closely, it was nothing to boast of. He stood contemplating207 it grimly with its tortured mouth and haunted eyes—and then suddenly the air was full of violets. He turned slowly, a strange peace holding his tired heart. She had come to him; nothing else would ever matter again.
216 She was standing in the doorway208, a little cloud of palest gray. It was the first time that he had seen her in light colours, and she had done something to her hair—caught it up with a great sparkling comb—it shone like pale fire. Her arms were quite full of violets—the largest ones that he had ever seen, like purple pansies. He stood drinking her in with his tired eyes, not even looking for words. It was she who spoke.
“Bridget told me that you were here. I thought that you were not coming to-night.”
He shook his head, with a torn and lamentable209 smile. “You said—until I realized my madness. Believe me—believe me, I have realized it, Lilah.”
She came slowly into the room, but the nearer she came to him the farther she seemed away, secure in her ethereal loveliness, her velvet eyes turned to ice.
“You have realized it, I am afraid, too late. There are still two tables of bridge upstairs; I have only a few minutes to give you. Was there anything that you wished to say?”
He shook his head dumbly, and she sank into the great chair, stifling210 a small yawn perfunctorily.
“Oh, I’m deathly tired. It’s been a hideous evening, from beginning to end. Come, amuse me, good tragedian, make me laugh just once, and I217 may forgive you. I may forgive you, even though you do not desire it.” Again that fleeting211 smile, exquisite and terrible.
But O’Hara was on his knees beside her.
“Delilah, don’t laugh, don’t laugh—I’m telling you the laughter is dead in me. I’d rather see you weeping for the poor, blind fool who lost the key to Paradise.”
“Who threw it away,” she amended212, touching the violets with light fingers. “But never forget, it’s better not to have set your foot within its gates than to be exiled from it. Never forget that, my tragedian.”
He raised his head, haggard and alert. “Lilah, what do you mean?”
“Why, nothing—only Lucia Dane was here for dinner and she thought it—strange—that you and I should be the gossip of Washington these days. When she had finished with what you had said to her, I thought it strange, too. And I assured her that there would be no more cause for gossip.”
“I was mad when I talked to that little fool,” he told her fiercely. “Clean out of my head trying to fight off your magic. That was the first night—the first night that I owned to myself that I loved you.”
“Your madness seems to be recurrent,” she218 murmured. “You should take measures against it.”
“I have taken measures. It shall never touch you again. I know now that it has simply been an obsession—a hallucination—anything in Heaven or Hell that you want to call it. You have all my trust, all my faith.”
“It is a terrible thing not to trust a woman,” she said. “More terrible than you know. Sometimes it makes her unworthy of trust.”
“Not you,” he whispered. “Never.”
“We’re delicate machinery213, tragedian. Touch a hidden spring in us with your clumsy fingers and the little thing that was ticking away as faithfully and peacefully as an alarm-clock stops for a minute—and then goes on ticking. Only it has turned to an infernal machine—and it will destroy you.”
She was silent for a moment, her fingers resting lightly on that bowed head. When she spoke again her voice was gentle. “Last night, after you had gone, I remembered what you had said about Antony and his Egypt, and I found the play. Parts of it still go singing through my head. They loved each other so, those two magnificent fools. He finds her treacherous214 a hundred times, and each time forgives her, and loves her again—and she repays him beyond belief—far, far beyond219 power and treachery and death. Do you remember his cry in that first hour of his disaster?
“‘O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt?’
“And when she weeps for pardon, how he tells her
“‘Fall not a tear, I say: one of them rates
All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss,
Even this repays me.’
“Though she has ruined him utterly—though he sees it and cries aloud
“‘O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,—
Like a right gipsy hath at false and loose
“Still, still his last thought is to reach her arms.
‘I am dying, Egypt, dying, only
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.’”
“Why, he was well repaid,” said that strange, humble voice.
“I am glad that you feel that,” Delilah told him, and she rose swiftly. “Would you like to kiss me? You see, I have ruined you.”
O’Hara stumbled to his feet.
“What are you saying?” he whispered, a dreadful incredulity driving the words through his stiffened218 lips.
220 “That I have ruined you. I have sent your notes on the Irish situation to the other party.”
“You are mad.”
“No, no.” She shook her head reassuringly. “Quite sane133. I didn’t address them in my own handwriting, naturally. The envelope is typewritten, but the notes are in long-hand; yours. The English Government will be forced to believe that for once it has misplaced its trust—but Ireland should pay you well—if she lives through civil war.”
“No dream, believe me.” She came closer to him, radiant and serene. “Did you think that I was a yellow-headed doll, that you could insult me beyond belief, mock me to my friends, slander220 me to the Committee of which I was a member? Monsieur De Nemours was good enough to warn me against you, also. I am no doll, you see; I happen to be a woman. We have not yet mastered that curiously221 devised code that you are pleased to term Honour—a code which permits you to betray a woman but not a secret—to cheat a man out of millions in business but not out of a cent at cards. It’s a little artificial, and we’re ridiculously primitive222. We use lynch-law still; swift justice with the nearest weapon at hand.”
221 O’Hara was shaking like a man in a chill, his voice hardly above a whisper. “What have you done? What have you done, Delilah?”
“Don’t you understand?” She spoke with pretty patience, as though to some backward child. “I have ruined you—you and your Ireland, too. I sent——”
And suddenly, shaken and breathless, she was in his arms.
“Oh, Ireland—Ireland and I!” But even at that strange cry she never stirred. “It’s you—you who are ruined, my Magic—and it’s I who have done it, driving you to this ugly madness.” He held her as though he would never let her go, sheltering the bowed golden head with his hand. “Though I forgive you a thousand thousand times, how will you forgive yourself, my little Love? You who would not hurt a flower, where will you turn when you see what you have done?”
He could feel her tears on his hand; she was weeping piteously, like a terrified child.
“Oh, you do love me, you do love me! I was so frightened—I thought that you would never love me.”
He held her closer, infinitely223 careful of that shining fragility.
“I love nothing else.”
“Not Ireland?”
222 He closed his hunted eyes, shutting out Memory.
“I hated Ireland,” wept the small voice fiercely, “because you loved her so.”
“But you do—you do love me best?”
“God forgive me, will you make me say so?”
There was a moment’s silence, then something brushed his hand, light as a flower, and Delilah raised her head.
“No, no, wait.” She was laughing, tremulous and exquisite. “Did you think—did you think that I had really sent your notes?”
O’Hara felt madness touching him; he stared down at her, voiceless.
“But of course, of course, I never sent them. They are upstairs; wait, I’ll get them for you—wait!”
She slipped from his arms and was half way to the door before his voice arrested her.
“Lilah!”
“Yes?”
“You say—that you have not sent the notes?”
“You never—you never thought of sending them?”
223 But he was groping for the mantel, sick and dizzy now that there was no need of courage. Delilah was at his side in a flash, her arms about him.
“Oh, my dear!” He had found the chair but she still clung to him. “What is it? You’re ill—you’re ill!”
Someone was coming down the stairs; she straightened to rigidity226, and was at the door in a flash.
“Captain Lawrence!”
The young Englishman halted abruptly—wheeled.
“Captain Lawrence, Mr. O’Hara is here; he had to see me about some papers, and he has been taken ill. He’s been overworking hideously227 lately. Will you get me some brandy for him?”
“Oh, I say, what rotten luck!” He lingered, concern touching his pleasant boyish face. “Where do I get the brandy, Mrs. Lindsay?”
“Ask Lucia Dane, she knows how to get hold of the maids. And hurry, will you?”
She was back at his side before the words had left; he could feel her fingers brushing his face like frightened butterflies, but he did not open his eyes. He was too mortally tired to lift his lids.
“Here you are, Mrs. Lindsay. Try this, old son. Steady does it.”
224 He swallowed, choked, felt the warm fire sweep through him, tried to smile, tried to rise.
“No, no, don’t move—don’t let him move, Captain Lawrence.”
“You stay where you are for a bit, young feller, my lad. Awfully sorry that I have to run, Mrs. Lindsay, but they telephoned for me from the Embassy. Some excitement about Turkey, the devil swallow them all. Good-night—take it easy, O’Hara!”
“Oh, Captain Lawrence!” He turned again. “Have you the letter that I asked you to mail?”
“Surely, right here. I’ll post it on my way over.”
“Thanks a lot, but I’ve decided not to send it, after all.” She stretched out her hand, smiling. “It’s an article on women in public life, and it’s going to need quite a few changes under the circumstances.”
“The circumstances?”
“Yes. You might tell them at the Embassy—if they’re interested. I’m handing in my resignation on the International Committee to-morrow.”
O’Hara gripped the arm of his chair until he felt it crack beneath his fingers. Captain Lawrence was staring at her in undisguised amazement.
“But I say! How in the world will they get along without you?”
225 “Oh, they’ll get along admirably.” She dismissed it as easily as though it were a luncheon228 engagement. “That young Lyons is the very man they need; he’s really brilliant and a perfect encyclop?dia of information. I’ll see you at the Embassy on Friday, won’t I? Good-night.”
Her arms were about O’Hara before the hall door slammed.
“You’re better now? All right? Oh, you frightened me so! It wasn’t that foolish trick of mine that hurt you? Say no, say no—I couldn’t ever hurt you!”
“Never. I should be whipped for frightening you.” His arms were fast about her, but his eyes were straying. What had she done with that letter? He had caught a glimpse of it, quite a bulky letter, in a large envelope, with a typewritten address—typewritten.
“Have you noticed my hair?” The magic voice was touched with gayety again, and O’Hara brushed the silken mist with his lips, his eyes still seeking. “I remembered what you said, you see; it grows most awfully fast—one of these days it will be as long as Rappunzel’s or Melisande’s. Will you like it then?”
Ah, there it was, face down on the lacquer table. He drew a deep breath.
226 “Lilah, that letter—what did you say was in that letter?”
There was a sudden stillness in the room; he could hear the painted clock ticking clearly. Then she spoke quietly:
“It’s an article that I have written on women in public life. Didn’t you hear me telling Captain Lawrence?”
“Will you let me see it?”
Again that stillness; then, very gently, Delilah pushed away his arms and rose.
“No,” she said.
“You will not?”
“No.” The low voice was inflexible229. “I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that those are the Irish notes; that I had fully intended to send them this evening; that it was only an impulse of mine that saved you, as it would have been an impulse that wrecked230 you. You are thinking that next time it may fall differently. And you are willing to believe me guilty until I am proved innocent. You have always been that—always.”
He bowed his head.
“I could hand you that envelope and prove that I am entirely innocent, but I’ll not purchase your confidence. It should be a gift—oh, it should be more. It is a debt that you owe me. Are you going to pay it?”
227 O’Hara raised haggard eyes to hers.
“How should I pay it?”
“If you insist on seeing this, I will show it to you; but I swear to you that I will never permit you to enter this house again; I swear it. Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“If you will trust me, I will give you your notes, love you for the rest of my life—marry you to-morrow.” She went to the table, picked up the envelope, and stood waiting. “What shall I do?”
“Will you get me the notes?”
He saw her shake then, violently, from head to foot, but her eyes never wavered. She nodded, and was gone.
He stood leaning against the mantel, his dark head buried in his arms. Beaten! He would never know what was in that envelope—never, never. She could talk to all Eternity232 about faith and trust; he would go wondering all his life through. If he had stood his ground—if he had claimed the envelope and she had been proven innocent, he would have lost her but he would have found his faith. He had sold his soul to purchase her body. The painted clock struck once, and he raised his head——
228 No, no, he was mad. She was right—entirely, absolutely right—she was just and merciful, she who might have scourged233 him from her sight for ever. What reason in heaven or earth had he to distrust her? Because her voice was silver and her hair was gold? Because violets scattered234 their fragrance235 when she stirred? Oh, his folly was thrice damned. If he had a thousand proofs against her, he should still trust her. What was it that that chap Browning said?
“What so false as truth is
False to thee?”
“Here are the notes,” said Delilah’s voice at his shoulder, and her eyes added, wistful and submissive: “And here am I.”
O’Hara took them in silence, his fingers folding them mechanically, measuring, weighing, appraising237. The envelope could have held them easily——
She turned from him with a little cry.
“Oh, you are cruel, cruel!”
He stood staring at her for a moment—at the small, desolate238 figure with its bowed head, one arm flung across her eyes like a stricken child—and suddenly his heart melted within him. She was229 weeping, and he had made her weep. He took a swift step toward her, and halted. In the mirror at the far end of the room he could see her, dimly caught between firelight and candlelight, shadowy and lovely—in the mirror at the far end of the room she was smiling, mischievous and tragic and triumphant239. He stared incredulously—and then swept her to him despairingly, burying his treacherous eyes in the bright hair in which clustered the invisible violets.
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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ardent
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curt
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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exquisitely
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courteous
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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9
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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10
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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11
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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12
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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13
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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14
disseminate
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| v.散布；传播 | |
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15
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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16
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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17
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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18
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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19
wittily
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| 机智地，机敏地 | |
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20
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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21
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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22
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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23
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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24
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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25
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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26
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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27
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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28
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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29
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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30
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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31
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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32
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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33
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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34
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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35
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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36
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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37
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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38
insurgent
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| adj.叛乱的，起事的；n.叛乱分子 | |
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39
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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42
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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43
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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44
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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45
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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46
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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47
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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48
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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49
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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50
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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51
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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52
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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53
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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54
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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55
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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56
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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57
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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58
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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60
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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61
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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62
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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63
stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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64
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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65
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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66
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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67
bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
accentuate
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| v.着重，强调 | |
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71
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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72
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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73
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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74
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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75
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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76
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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77
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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78
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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79
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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80
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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81
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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82
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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83
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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84
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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85
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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86
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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87
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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88
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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89
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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90
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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91
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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92
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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93
alleviated
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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95
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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96
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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97
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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98
bickering
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| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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99
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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100
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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101
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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102
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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103
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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104
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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105
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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106
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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107
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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108
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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109
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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110
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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111
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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112
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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113
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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114
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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115
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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116
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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117
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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118
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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119
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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120
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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121
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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122
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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123
mendaciously
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124
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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125
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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126
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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127
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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128
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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129
flippancy
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| n.轻率；浮躁；无礼的行动 | |
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130
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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131
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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132
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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133
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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134
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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135
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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136
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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137
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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138
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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139
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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141
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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142
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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143
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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144
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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145
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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146
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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147
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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148
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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149
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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150
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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151
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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152
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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153
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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154
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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155
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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156
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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157
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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158
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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159
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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160
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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161
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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162
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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163
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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164
bloodiest
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| adj.血污的( bloody的最高级 )；流血的；屠杀的；残忍的 | |
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165
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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166
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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167
lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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168
radicalism
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| n. 急进主义, 根本的改革主义 | |
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169
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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170
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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171
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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172
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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173
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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174
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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175
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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176
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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177
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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178
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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179
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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180
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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181
cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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182
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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183
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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184
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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185
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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186
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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187
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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188
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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189
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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190
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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191
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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192
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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193
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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194
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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195
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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196
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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197
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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198
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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199
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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200
wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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201
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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202
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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203
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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204
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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205
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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206
vacillation
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| n.动摇；忧柔寡断 | |
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207
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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208
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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209
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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210
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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211
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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212
Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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213
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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214
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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215
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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216
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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217
importune
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| v.强求；不断请求 | |
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218
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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219
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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220
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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221
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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222
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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223
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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224
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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225
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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226
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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227
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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228
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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229
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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230
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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231
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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232
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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233
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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234
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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235
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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236
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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237
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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238
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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239
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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