"Do you think I'm ... I'm too young?" I asked.
"I feel as if I was your mother ... and I'm not much over twenty ... but
do sit up on a chair, dear!"
She stood on her feet, shook out her dress, smiled curiously, and
started out of the room. I was up and after her, my arms around her
waist, desperate. She slid around in my arms, laughing quietly to
herself till the back of her head was against my mouth. I kissed and
kissed the top of her head. Then she turned slowly to face me, pressing
all the contours of her body into me ... she crushed her bosom to mine.
Already I was quite tall; and she was stocky and short ... she lifted
her face up to me, a curious kindling light in her eyes ... of a
phosphorescent, greenish lustre, like those chance gleams in a cat's
eyes you catch at night....
She took my little finger and deliberately bit it ... then she leaned
away from my seeking mouth, my convulsive arms....
"You want too much, all at once," she said, and, whirling about broke
away....
With the table between me and her....
"Wouldn't you like a little beer, and some sandwiches? I have some in
the ice box.... _Do_ let's have some beer and sandwiches."
I assented, though hating the bitter taste of beer, and hungry for her
instead of sandwiches. And soon we were sitting down calmly at the
table, or rather, she was sitting down calmly ... baffled, I pretended
to be calm.
As she rose for something or other, I sprang around the table and caught
her close to me once more, marvelling, at the same time, at my loss of
shyness, my new-found audacity. Again she snuggled in close to me, her
flesh like a warm, palpitating cushion.
"Flora, my darling ... help me!" I cried, half-sobbing.
"What do you mean?" laughing.
"I love you!"
"I know all _you_ want!"
"But I do love you ... see...."
And I prostrated myself, in a frenzy, at her feet.
"Say, you're the queerest kid I've ever known."
And she walked out of the room abruptly, while I rose to my feet and sat
in a chair, dejected. She came in again, a twinkle in her eye.
"Don't torture me, Flora!" I pleaded, "either send me away, or--"
"Stop pestering me ... let's talk ... read me some of that Tennyson you
gave me...." and I began reading aloud, for there was nothing else she
would for the moment, have me do....
* * * * *
"You're a poet," whimsically, "I want you to write some letters to me
because I know you must write beautiful."
"--if you will only let me love you!"
"Well, ain't I lettin' you love me?"
A perverse look came into her face, a thought, an idea that pleased
her--
"I've lots and lots of letters from men," she began, "men that have been
in love with me."
"Oh!" I exclaimed weakly ... she had just expressed a desire to add some
of mine to the pack ... the next thing that she followed up with gave me
a start--
"Your father--"
"My father?--" I echoed.
"He's written me the best letters of all ... wait a minute ... I'll read
a little here and there to you." And, gloating and triumphant, and
either not seeing or, in her vulgarity, not caring what effect the
reading of my father's love letters would have on me, she began reading
ardent passages aloud. "See!" She showed me a page to prove that it was
in his handwriting. The letters told a tale easy to understand. She was
so eager in her vanity that she read on and on without seeing in my
face what, seen, would have made her stop.
A frightful trembling seized me, a loathing, a horror. This was my
father's woman ... and ... I!...
I sat on, dumbfounded, paralysed. I remembered his stories of trips to
T---- and other places on supposed lodge business ... unluckily, I also
remembered that several times Flora had been off on trips at the same
time.
"Just listen to this, will you!" and she began at another passage.
She was so absorbed in her reading that she did not see how I was on my
feet ... had seized my hat ... was going.
"I'm sorry, Flora, but I've got to go!"
"What?" looking up and surprised, "--got to go?"
"Yes ... Yes ... I must--must go!" my lips trembled.
"Why, we're just getting acquainted ... I didn't mean for you to go
yet."
She rose, dropping the letters all in a heap.
She was the aggressive one now. She drew me to her quickly, "Stay ...
and I'll promise to be good to you!"
I pushed back, loathing ... loathing her and myself, but myself more,
because in spite of all my disgust, my pulses leaped quick again to
hers.
"Sit down again."