"The best!" He was smiling his enchanting, flattering smile at her--the
smile that always seemed to draw you into the Holy of Holies of his
confidence.
"I may be going away to-morrow," she said.
"May you?"
"But I shall be back on Thursday. Shall we dine together that night?"
"I am dining with a Russian friend of mine who is passing through
London."
"Friday, then?"
"Friday I am going to the country for the week-end."
"Then it will have to be Monday."
"Yes, I am afraid so."
"Afraid that you will have to dine with me?"
"How civil you are!"
There was a pause. She wished she could keep all the acid out of her
voice. He thought how tiresome women were, always wanting to know just
what you were going to do.
"Bill," she said, holding out her hand, which he took rather
perfunctorily. He felt like a dog that knows exactly which trick follows
what word of command, but as, from force of habit, he invariably became
lover-like when he was absent-minded, he stroked her arm with a
significant caressing gesture that filled her with joy.
"Are you glad I love you?" she murmured.
"Of course."
"There is an intelligent woman," he thought, "who has had hundreds of
men in love with her, making a demand for verbal assurances that can't
possibly add anything to her peace of mind. Either they are true and
superfluous, or they are false and transparently unconvincing."
"Bill," she said, reading his thoughts, "you can't understand my wanting
mere words, can you?"
"No," he said, "not you, who know so exactly what they mean."
"Nevertheless, they are sometimes vaguely comforting and reassuring--a
sort of local anæsthetic." He loved her insight, her curious layers of
detachment.
"Bill," she murmured, "I haven't seen you for ages."
"Not since two this morning."
"I don't count a ball; besides I was too tired to stop dancing."
"You danced like an angel and your eyes were shining with ecstasy,
lighting hopes all round, though of course I knew you didn't know your
partner from the parquet--if he happened to be as good as the floor."
"You love watching me, don't you? much better than seeing me." How he
wished she weren't always right.
"Remember what a wonderful drama you are, Elaine."
"A drama in which you have played lead. But you only liked the first
act--the Comedy Act, and you won't even enjoy the curtain as much as you
think, because always there will be the nasty certainty of its some day
going up again, and then you won't even be in the wings."
How diabolically clear-sighted she was!
"Bill, dearest," she held out her hand, "you are reaching the moment
when you long to be the third person. You want a little rest. You have
come to the point in the life of every lover when he prefers the husband
to the wife."
But this was more than he could stand. A horrible shadow was being cast
over his future, romance was shrinking before his eyes. Frightened, he
bent down and kissed her. "Darling," he murmured, nestling his face in
her neck, "what nonsense you talk."
Love, passion, romance, fidelity--all were vindicated by this deliberate
act.
Her doubts, her certainties, subsided, vanished--hypnotised with
happiness. "I was teasing," she lied.
"I must go," he said.
"No."
"Yes."
"Not just this moment, please; five more minutes."
"It will be just as difficult then."
"But I shall have had five more minutes."
"How practical you are!"
He stayed.
"I will write to you."
"Do."
"And I shall try and be back in time for tea Thursday, then I shall see
you, in spite of your stupid Russian."
"If I can get away."
"Can't you bring him to dine with me?"
"I'm afraid not; he has asked some one else."
"Shall I have some forms printed with 'I miss you, bless you,' for you
to sign and send me each day."
"Goose!"
"Well, at any rate, I shall have you properly on Monday."
"Yes."
"And please make a great effort about Thursday."
"Yes."
She drew him down to her, holding his face in her hands.
"It is silly to love at my time of life," she said; "I am too young. It
is like wearing a lovely new dress to climb mountains in."
"You will always be young," he said; "you are eternal."
It was his considered view; he wished she weren't. Kissing her a little
absently he walked to the door; then because he had always done so, he
walked back.
"Bless you," he said. It was perfunctory and final. The shutting of the
door turned out the light in her eyes.
"How tired I am!" she thought, and then--"Tuesday, Wednesday,
Thursday--Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday."