Carlita's heart was beating so that Pierrepont's words were almost
drowned in the sound. It seemed impossible for her to reply. She had
grown dizzy and blind suddenly, and it was with a relief that was
almost hysterical that she welcomed a young man who interrupted the
tete-a-tete.
She knew perfectly well that that was not what Stolliker would have had
her do, that she was losing an opportunity that she might never be able
to regain; but she could not help that, and when one of the men who had
played at the other table bent over her to inquire how she had enjoyed
the game, she looked into his face with an interest, an animation, that
caused Pierrepont to turn away with a weary sigh.
The supper was of the best; but when she left the table, it would
have been impossible for Carlita to have told one thing that had been
served. It seemed to her that she had passed the time in a state of
hypnotism, living, moving, acting while her senses were governed by
some other power than her own.
And yet she jested with a blithe merriment that brought again the
old expression of cynicism to Pierrepont's countenance. Jessica had
reserved the seat beside herself for him, and he slipped into it when
there was nothing else to do.
"Is not our little Puritan charming tonight?" she asked, with an
animated smile. "I never imagined that Carlita could be so bewitching.
I fancy that half the men in the room are in love with her. Did you
ever see her so beautiful?"
"Never so beautiful," he answered, with affected lightness; "but much
more charming many times."
"You approve of the Puritan type, then?"
"I am the strongest believer in individuality, and she has lost hers
tonight. She is as out of place as--as--you would be in the role of
Priscilla."
"I am not quite sure whether you intend that as a compliment or the
reverse," returned Jessica, laughing; "but analysis is such a stupid
thing. At all events she gives promise of being one of the best poker
players I have ever seen, and while that may not be altogether a
recommendation for a woman to the clerical class, it certainly is to
the persons whom Carlita is liable to meet. But let us talk about
yourself. Do you know, I fancy you are not looking well."
"It is all fancy, I assure you."
"No, it is not. You are pale, dark under the eyes, and disturbed
looking."
"Biliousness, I give you my word."
"No. I'm afraid you got a germ of some sort of disease in Mexico. You
have never been yourself since you returned from there."
He was eating a deviled kidney, sandwiched between two broiled
mushrooms, but pushed it away from him as she spoke. The faintest
perceptible frown gathered between his eyes.
"Imagination!" he answered, with a short laugh.
"You liked Mexico, then?"
"I loathe it!" he returned. "I wish to God I could never hear the name
mentioned again. I wish to God I had never seen the place!"
There had been a lull in the conversation, and the words, low as they
were spoken, were heard from one end of the table to the other. Carlita
glanced up. A ghastly whiteness overspread her countenance. For a
moment it seemed to Jessica that she was going to faint, but young
Beresford handed her a glass of champagne which she drained before
taking it from her lips.
Jessica's small teeth set angrily.
"If she believes him to be guilty," she muttered, mentally, "why does
this new evidence of his guilt upset her like this? Curse her! She
thinks she can deceive me; but she shall see--she shall see!"
But she only smiled above her wrath, and turned again to Pierrepont.
"How you are changing from the indifferent, nonchalant man you used to
be, whom nothing could arouse from the even tenor of his way. There are
absolutely traces of passion in your speech nowadays."
He bestowed a smile upon her which sent the blood tingling through her
veins, and said in the old drawling, indolent way:
"There have always been traces of passion in my nature."
It was just such a speech as in the old days had convinced her, without
further declaration from him, that he loved her; and as memory returned
of those times, she was forced to bite her lip to keep the angry,
bitter tears from her eyes. She saw now how little there had ever been
in it, saw how little he had ever really cared, and a fierce hatred of
him leaped to life in her breast, a hatred that was all the more savage
because its very essence and flame was the wild, passionate love for
him which she had not the least power to control.
"What frauds you men are!" she exclaimed, forcing herself to speak
lightly, though her heart still ached poignantly. "There is so little
in your words and so much in your manner of saying them. No wonder you
break our hearts, and then still your conscience by making yourselves
believe that you were not in fault, that you had said nothing by which
your honors were compromised."
"Do you believe that hearts break?" asked Leith, mockingly.
"Not the heart of the 'new woman,'" answered Jessica, laughing. "She is
too familiar with the genus homo."
"The 'new woman' has no heart. She is all brain."
"Then you acknowledge that woman has, until recently, had a 'corner on
heart,' so to speak, and that man for all time has been without one,
being a creature simply of brain?"
"Did I say so?"
"Practically, as the 'new woman' is only taking her place in the front
walks as man's intellectual companion."
"Perhaps you are right; I don't know. It seems to me sometimes as if
men, and women, too, would be better off without hearts. It has caused
more sin than it ever prevented a thousand times, and has created more
misery than happiness a million to one. For my own part, if I could
dispense with the very necessary organ, it would give me the greatest
relief possible."
"Does that mean that you are in love, Pierrepont?" questioned
Redfield Ash, with his mouth rather too full of food to be altogether
intelligible.
"Did there ever live a man worthy of the name who was not in love?"
returned Leith, gallantly. "I love all women."
"For the sake of one?" asked young Beresford, with a sentimental glance
toward Carlita.
Before Leith could reply, Jessica was on her feet.
"This is not a confessional!" she cried, lightly. "Now, we are going to
award you gentlemen just thirty minutes for your wine and cigars. At
the end of that time we shall expect you promptly in the drawing-room."
"It is too much!" exclaimed Beresford. "I for one am willing to forego
the cigar in this occasion."
Jessica hesitated a moment, then, with a half glance at Carlita,
exclaimed:
"If Miss de Barryos does not object, you may have the men in the
drawing-room. Does smoke nauseate you, Carlita?"
Carlita laughed.
"I used to light my old friend the gardener's pipe, and I am sure he
never had a new one oftener than once in five years."
The men followed at once, and Jessica paused only long enough to give
instructions to the butler. When she reached the drawing-room, Carlita
was already seated at the piano.
Her voice was a trifle weaker, from lack of practice, than it had been
the last time Leith heard her sing, but it was infinitely sweet, and
was greeted with a vociferous round of applause which neither one nor
two songs would still; and then, stepping to the piano, Leith asked her
if she would undertake the duet from "Aïda," which she had sung with
him on one occasion.
She hated him for the request, and yet nothing under heaven could have
caused her to decline. There was almost defiance in her eyes as she
arose and yielded her place upon the stool to him.
It was a magnificent thing, sung with wonderful depth of feeling and
power of expression, and was a vast surprise to those present. Carlita
wondered afterward how she had ever been able to complete it, but she
heard his words of praise above all the rest, though they were fewer
and spoken scarcely above his breath.
"What an artiste you will make--what an artiste you are! God! it is
enough to make a Christian of a man to listen to you. And how you have
improved since we sang that together the last time. I wish you would
let me sing with you often. It is like being permitted a glimpse into
paradise."
He had risen, and was standing with his back to the piano, looking down
at her. The others were all around them; but suddenly they seemed to
separate, no one knew how or why. They had heard no announcement of a
new arrival, but as they stepped apart they realized that Jessica was
standing there, her fingers touching the arm of a dark-visaged man
whose aspect certainly was not pleasant.
There was a tremulous smile upon her lips, half expectant, half
triumphant. She seemed to have forgotten them for the moment, but went
forward straight up to Leith, who was not looking toward her, but down
at Carlita.
"Mr. Pierrepont," she exclaimed, speaking rather louder than usual, "I
want to introduce you to a gentleman from Mexico. Senor Meriaz, Mr.
Pierrepont!"
Leith glanced up. There had been a flush upon his cheeks, brought there
by the pleasure of singing with Carlita, but as his eyes rested upon
the man before him, his color vanished, and from brow to throat a
ghastly pallor overspread his face, that the least observant could not
fail to marvel at.
He caught at the edge of the piano, then recovered himself almost as
suddenly as he had lost his self-control.
But it was Meriaz who replied to the introduction, Meriaz whose voice
alone was heard.
"Senor Pierrepont and I have met before!"
Then deliberately the dark-browed Mexican, who possessed not an element
of refinement or gentlemanliness in his entire make-up, turned his back
upon the elegant man of the world.