THE LAST DISCUSSION.
The time of their departure was at hand. There had been two days of
intense packing of the food and clothing necessary for their
two-hundred-mile walk. Now that was behind them, and after a short trip
which Philip must take the following morning, they would be off for the
ten or fifteen miles they hoped to cover that day.
When night came they were overjubilant, and they sat before the cabin
watching the lake as it shimmered in the moonlight. Claire was pensively
silent, though her heart sang. She was dreaming out her days, painting
them on the moonlit water, and she paid very little heed to the two men,
though unconsciously her whole personality leaned toward Lawrence. What
they were saying she did not at first know, but gradually her attention
was caught and she listened earnestly with an ever-growing fear in her
heart.
She saw the deep fire that burned in Philip's eyes, and she realized
that Lawrence was unaware of how his provocative, half-humorous ironies
were stirring the volcano within the man who sat beside him.
"No man has a right," Philip was saying, "to think of a woman in his
house unless he can think of her as altogether trustworthy, pure, and
beyond temptation. If he does think of her differently, he is a beast,
and wants a mistress, not a wife."
Lawrence laughed carelessly. "The average man wants both in one," he
said. "Personally, so far as your talk about suspicion goes, who needs
to think either way? I'm sure I don't. I'm quite content to live with a
woman, giving and taking what we can enjoy together, and not asking that
she limit her time and devotion to me. She may have various outside
interests of her own. In fact, I would prefer that life should hold a
separate work for her."
"Oh, you do not care. You are too selfish to feel any responsibility
for a woman's soul. I would feel depraved if I did not guard my wife's
soul by my very faith in her."
"Why should you guard her soul? Isn't the average woman intelligent
enough to look out for herself? What she does, she does because she
wants to, and for Heaven's sake, man, let her have the right to freedom
of being."
"But real freedom of being lies in her dependence on me as the head of
the house," Philip protested.
"If you happen to be the head of the house," Lawrence added jestingly.
"But I would be the head of the house. It is my right and my duty."
"Poor Mrs. Ortez, if there ever is one," Lawrence continued, joking.
"She is to be guarded by a great, aggressive, possessing husband. What
if she happens to want something you don't approve of?"
"She won't. A good woman doesn't."
"But suppose your woman isn't good, and does?"
"I should have to explain to her her mistake."
"And then when she says, 'But I don't regard it as a mistake, I think it
was quite right,' what will you do?"
"I wouldn't have a woman who would hold such views."
"What is it you want for a wife, Philip? A brainless feminine body who
is content to be your slave?"
"I should be ashamed to speak of any woman I cared for in those terms.
One doesn't marry a woman who can be thought of in terms of sex."
"Perhaps 'one doesn't.' I would. I should want her to be very well aware
of her exact physical potentialities, and to think enough about them to
understand herself."
"Then you would want an unwholesome wife, my friend."
"Not at all. I want a natural one, that's all. Moreover," he added
joyously, "I shall have one."
Philip glanced at him quickly. Into his mind flashed the memory of
Claire's words in the room that fatal afternoon.
"I shall never marry such a woman," he declared, and added: "But I mean
to have one whose devotion is so pure that even her talk to me of such
things will be holy."
Lawrence laughed heartily.
"Philip," he said, still chuckling, "you seem to think we human beings
are half supernatural and half stinking dirt. Why, in Heaven's name,
don't you once see us as plain, healthy, intelligent animals?"
"Because we're half gods, half beasts."
"So I was once told by the son of an ancient mind whose farthest mental
frontier reached A.D. 1123."
Philip rose and faced Lawrence, then looked shamefacedly at Claire, and
sat down again.
"You think you are advanced because you are still unaware of anything
but beasthood!"
Lawrence grinned complacently.
"I am always amused at the way men speak of beasts as if they were
something base," he said. "'Beast' should not be a term of opprobrium.
The average dog or elephant, for example, is fairly wholesome and quite
naturally proper in his fulfilment of instincts. It is more than one can
say for men. Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical
being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I
suspect it will have to start from that very admission."
"Of course"--Philip hesitated a little--"we are animals in that sense.
But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We
both know her better than any one else. I could scarcely think of her as
an animal, subject only to its instincts. Even allowing that she is a
very intelligent animal, it isn't all or even the better part of her,
any more than it is of any good woman."
The speech was self-revealing, and Lawrence smiled.
"Now, it is strange," he observed; "that is precisely the way I should
think of Claire if I wanted to see her in the best possible light, as
the most splendidly intelligent, healthy animal I ever knew."
"You are more insulting than you intend. I am glad that you do not mean
to be," Philip growled.
"Tra-la-la. I shouldn't insult her for a good deal."
"Yet your attitude is debasing," Philip retorted.
"Oh, well, perhaps. She has my apology if she thinks so."
"But you can't actually mean what you say," Philip went on. "Your
attitude would lead you to make a cave of your home, and a mere lair of
your bed."
"Which, by the way, very elaborately arranged, and embellished with
thousands of psychological phases, products of the most highly
specialized part of me, is exactly what my home would be."
"Well, I certainly should deplore your household."
"Go as far as you like. It ought to be a fairly comfortable home, with
its basis on frankness, oughtn't it, Claire?"
Philip's eyes flashed.
Claire hesitated, fearing lest she provoke him further, and said
cautiously: "Yes, it ought to be based on frankness."
"But frankness doesn't mean an attitude of mind like that," Philip
protested.
"What does it mean?" Lawrence asked.
"It means an established order where love makes it possible for two
beings to speak their thoughts freely one to the other," Philip said,
with the air of defining infinity.
"Does it? Well, if that is frankness by definition, I have known many
women with whom I was in love, but neither they nor I knew it until this
minute."
Lawrence laughed. Philip flushed, shrugged his shoulders, and stood up.
"I thank goodness I do not see things as you do," he said.
"Even the parable of the Pharisee has its modern aspect," Lawrence
murmured chucklingly.
Philip stood looking moodily across the lake, and fortunately did not
catch his words.
"I think I shall walk a little," he said coldly. "I can't sleep until I
have walked some of your conversation out of my soul."
"Go to it," Lawrence said with a smile. "I didn't mean to corrupt you."
"You didn't. You simply make me angry. I'm sorry, but you do."
"Yes? So am I. However, it won't last much longer, Philip."
Both men smiled at the thoughts that came with those words.
"I think I shall go in," Lawrence went on. "I shall want sleep for the
big start to-morrow."
Philip looked hopefully at Claire. She rose with a sigh of weariness,
pretending not to see him.
"So shall I," she said. "Good night, both of you."
She was gone into the cabin, and Philip looked disappointed. He turned
down the lake shore, dreaming of the end of his journey, rebelling at
the necessity for Claire to listen to Lawrence's talk, and rejoicing at
how different his life with her would be.
Inside the cabin, Lawrence closed the door and stepped into the room.
Claire stood waiting silently before him, and when he came to her, she
threw her arms happily around his neck. He laughed and caught her up.
"So you lie in wait for me, do you?" he teased.
"Why not? I want to capture my man," she said softly.
"You have him, dearest. And, by the way"--he sat down and drew her on to
the arm of his chair--"permit me to extend you my sympathy for the
suffering you must have experienced at the thought of living with
Philip."
She shuddered a little, and laughed.
"Such frankness as his home would permit!" she said. "I'm afraid our
hearth would not radiate warmth."
"Nothing could warm such a home into anything like the real thing,"
Lawrence mused. "It was my privilege when in college to stay for a time
in a home where the people had really attained the ideal. It was the
only home that ever made me envious."
"I shall make you such a home, dear," she whispered.
"No, we will have a mere cave, a lair," he laughed.
She shook her long hair down over his face playfully.
"Will you be a savage old cave man?" she asked.
"I shall. As savage as they ever made them in the golden age," he
answered, and drew her down against him.
"I shall like that," she said, her eyes full of a warm, dreamy light.
"You will be terribly abused by your beast husband," Lawrence said
gaily.
"I think sometimes, Lawrence, that I could enjoy being hurt by your
hands--having them really cause me pain."
He gripped her tightly against him and his hands tightened.
"Claire," he said, "a man never knows what there is in his nature till a
woman like you whispers in his ear. You make me afraid at what I feel
within me."
"I know," she said. "I'm afraid, too, of what there is in you, but just
the same I'm going to be the happiest woman in the world."
"I hope so," he said. "But you will have to defend yourself against
selfishness."
"I have to do that already," she laughed, "but I don't mind. I can, and
that is the main thing. Besides, when you really want anything very
much, you have a way of forcing me to want it, too, my master-lover!"
He laughed joyously. "Claire," he said, "if we ever do go to smash, you
and I, there will have been a glorious day and a glorious house to smash
with. It won't be a petty breaking of toy dishes!"
"No," she whispered, "it will be the breaking of life's foundations."
She slipped from his arms and into her room. Philip was coming in.
Lawrence sat down in a chair and Philip threw himself on his bed in
silence.
He was caught in the inevitable result of his beliefs. He had argued
with Lawrence because he was troubled. His whole being was filled with a
great fear. Remembering how Lawrence and Claire had acted lately, he had
been thrown into a fever of jealous rage. He was utterly beyond his
depth now, and he was silent because to speak would have meant to break
into accusation. His imagination had pictured Claire in Lawrence's arms
while he was gone; if he had actually known the truth it would have been
less agonizing than the picture.
He lay there filled with his own thoughts and dreading the moment when
Lawrence would come and lie down beside him. Behind her curtain he heard
Claire moving about, humming a little song, and it added to his torture.
He turned restlessly on his bed and groaned.
Lawrence raised his head. He, too, was dreaming of Claire, but his
imaginings, vividly alluring in their appeal, were filled with the
content of happiness. Claire was his. That was certain, and those sweet
dreams should be fulfilled again and again in his life, with a growing
depth that would make them the more beautiful. What a creature of wonder
she was--and she was his--his, to love, to enjoy, to master, and to work
for. Yes, and to work with. He would find her the needed impulse and
idea to form his great work. She would make him the creative artist, the
sculptor that he felt he had the power to be.
Philip muttered something, and Lawrence turned toward him.
"Feeling bad?" he asked genially.
Philip did not answer.
"You aren't ill, are you?" Lawrence's voice was full of real concern. He
was thinking that it would be bad if they had to stay here a while
longer.
"No. Only in spirit. I will be all right to-morrow."
Philip turned over, and Lawrence sat down again to dream.
For a long time he remained there, meditating, and at last he arose to
go to bed. Philip was asleep and breathing heavily. Claire was moving a
little. Lawrence stopped to listen. The curtain parted, her arms slipped
around his neck, and silently there in the darkness she kissed him
passionately, eagerly. He held her tightly, her soft, warm figure
thrilling him with joy.
Philip turned restlessly, and she hastily drew back, stealing a last
swift kiss. Lawrence walked toward his bed. He heard a low, stifling
little laugh, then all was still in the cabin. Claire had laughed for
very joy at her love. He smiled tenderly. Dear little woman, she was
indeed a wealth untold to him. What a life theirs would be after they
got away from Philip!
Poor Philip, his would indeed be a sad fate, with his ideals here to
worry him after they were gone. Well, he wasn't the sort that one could
help. Let him work out his own destiny. Lawrence lay down comfortably,
and sending a thousand dear thoughts flying across the silent room, he
fell asleep while he smiled at his own romancing.