While the train sped to New York, Ethel Brandenbourg was the one object
engaging Ernest's mind. He still felt the pressure of her lips upon his,
and his nostrils dilated at the thought of the fragrance of her hair
brushing against his forehead.
But the moment his foot touched the ferry-boat that was to take him to
Manhattan, the past three weeks were, for the time being at least,
completely obliterated from his memory. All his other interests that he
had suppressed in her company because she had no part in them, came
rushing back to him. He anticipated with delight his meeting with
Reginald Clarke. The personal attractiveness of the man had never seemed
so powerful to Ernest as when he had not heard from him for some time.
Reginald's letters were always brief. "Professional writers," he was
wont to say, "cannot afford to put fine feeling into their private
correspondence. They must turn it into copy." He longed to sit with the
master in the studio when the last rays of the daylight were tremulously
falling through the stained window, and to discuss far into the
darkening night philosophies young and old. He longed for Reginald's
voice, his little mannerisms, the very perfume of his rooms.
There also was a deluge of letters likely to await him in his apartment.
For in his hurried departure he had purposely left his friends in the
dark as to his whereabouts. Only to Jack he had dropped a little note
the day after his meeting with Ethel.
He earnestly hoped to find Reginald at home, though it was well nigh ten
o'clock in the evening, and he cursed the "rapid transit" for its
inability to annihilate space and time. It is indeed disconcerting to
think how many months, if not years, of our earthly sojourn the dwellers
in cities spend in transportation conveyances that must be set down as a
dead loss in the ledger of life. A nervous impatience against things
material overcame Ernest in the subway. It is ever the mere stupid
obstacle of matter that weights down the wings of the soul and prevents
it from soaring upward to the sun.
When at last he had reached the house, he learned from the hall-boy that
Clarke had gone out. Ruffled in temper he entered his rooms and went
over his mail. There were letters from editors with commissions that he
could not afford to reject. Everywhere newspapers and magazines opened
their yawning mouths to swallow up what time he had. He realised at once
that he would have to postpone the writing of his novel for several
weeks, if not longer.
Among the letters was one from Jack. It bore the postmark of a little
place in the Adirondacks where he was staying with his parents. Ernest
opened the missive not without hesitation. On reading and rereading it
the fine lines on his forehead, that would some day deepen into
wrinkles, became quite pronounced and a look of displeasure darkened his
face. Something was wrong with Jack, a slight change that defied
analysis. Their souls were out of tune. It might only be a passing
disturbance; perhaps it was his own fault. It pained him, nevertheless.
Somehow it seemed of late that Jack was no longer able to follow the
vagaries of his mind. Only one person in the world possessed a similar
mental vision, only one seemed to understand what he said and what he
left unsaid. Reginald Clarke, being a man and poet, read in his soul as
in an open book. Ethel might have understood, had not love, like a
cloud, laid itself between her eyes and the page.
It was with exultation that Ernest heard near midnight the click of
Reginald's key in the door. He found him unchanged, completely,
radiantly himself. Reginald possessed the psychic power of undressing
the soul, of seeing it before him in primal nakedness. Although no word
was said of Ethel Brandenbourg except the mere mention of her presence
in Atlantic City, Ernest intuitively knew that Reginald was aware of the
transformation that absence had wrought in him. In the presence of this
man he could be absolutely himself, without shame or fear of
mis-understanding; and by a strange metamorphosis, all his affection
for Ethel and Jack went out for the time being to Reginald Clarke.