Gila had counted on an easy victory that evening. She had furnished for
the occasion her keenest wit, her sweetest laughter, her finest
derision, her most sparkling sarcasm; and as she and her escort joined
the motley throng who were patiently making their way into the packed
doorway she whetted them forth eagerly.
Even while they took their turn among the crowd she began to make keen
little remarks about the company they were keeping, drawing her velvet
robes away from contact with the throng.
Courtland, standing head and shoulders above her, his fine profile
outlined against the brightness of the lighted doorway, was looking
about with keen interest on the faces of the people, and wondering why
they had come. Were they in search of the Presence? Had they, too, felt
it there within those dingy walls? He glanced down at Gila with a hope
that she, too, might see and understand to-night. What friends they
might be--how they might talk these things over together--if only Gila
would understand!
He wished she had had better sense than to array herself in such
startling garments. He could see the curious glances turned her way;
glances that showed she was misunderstood. He did not like it, and he
reached down a protecting hand and took her arm, speaking to her
gravely, just to show the bold fellows behind her that she was under
capable escort. He did not hear her keen sallies at the expense of their
fellow-worshipers. He was annoyed and trying by his serious mien to
shelter her.
The singing was already going on as they entered. Just plain old gospel
songs, sung just as badly, though with even more fervor, than in the
morning. Courtland accepted the tattered hymn-book and put Gila into the
seat the shabby usher indicated. He was wholly in the spirit of the
gathering, and anxious only to feel the spell once more that had been
about him in the morning. But Gila was so amused with her surroundings
that she could scarcely pay attention to where she was to sit, and
almost tripped over the end of the pew. She openly stared and laughed at
the people around her, as though that was what Courtland had brought her
there for, and kept nudging him and calling his attention to some
grotesque figure.
Courtland was singing, joining his fine tenor in with the curious
assembly and enjoying it. Gila recalled him each time from a realm of
the spirit, and he would earnestly give attention to what she said,
bending his ear to listen, then look seriously at the person indicated,
try to appreciate her amusement with a nod and absent smile, and go on
singing again! He was so absorbed in the gathering that her talk
scarcely penetrated to his real soul.
If he had been trying to baffle Gila he could have used no more
effective method, for the point of her jokes seemed blunted. She turned
her eyes at last to her escort and began to study him, astonishment and
chagrin in her countenance. Gradually both gave way to a kind of
admiration and curiosity. One could not look at Courtland and not
admire. The fine strength in his handsome young face and figure were
always noticeable among a company anywhere, and here among these
foreigners and wayfarers it was especially so. She was conscious of a
thrill of pleasure in his presence that was new to her. Usually her
attitude was to make others thrill at her presence! No man before had
caught her fancy and held it like this rare one. What secret lay behind
that grave strength of his that made him successfully resist those arts
of hers that had readily lured other victims?
She watched him while he bowed his head in prayer, and noted how his
rich, close-cut hair waved and crept about his temples; noted the curve
of his chin and the curl of his lashes on his cheek. More and more she
coveted him. And she must set herself to find and break this other power
that had him in its clutches. She perfectly recognized the fact that it
was entirely possible that she would not care for him after the other
power was broken, and that she might have to toss him aside after he was
fully hers. But what of that? Had she not so tossed many a hapless soul
that had come like a moth to singe his wings in her candle-flame, then
laughed at him gaily as he lay writhing in his pain; and tossed after
him, torn and trampled, his own ideals of womanhood, too; so that all
other women might henceforth be blighted in his eyes. Ah! What of that,
so that unquenchable flame in her soul, that restlessly pursued and
conquered and cast aside, might be satisfied? Was that not what women
were made for, to conquer men and toss them away? If they did not would
not men conquer them and toss them away? She was but fulfilling her
womanhood as she had been taught to look upon it.
But there was something puzzling about Courtland that interested her
deeply. She was not sure but it was half his charm. He really seemed to
_want_ to be good, to _desire_ to resist evil. Most of the other men
she knew had been all too ready to fall as lightly with as little
earnestness as she into whatever doubtful paths her dainty feet had
chanced to lead. Many of them would have led further than she would go,
for she had her own limitations and conventions, strange as it may seem.
So Gila sat and meditated, with a strange, sweet thrill in the thought
of a new experience; for, young as she was, she had found the pleasures
of her existence pall upon her many times.
Suddenly her ear was caught by the sermon. The ugly little man in the
pulpit, with the strange eyes that seemed to look through you, was
telling a story of a garden, with One calling, and a pair of naked souls
guilty and in fear before Him. It was as though she had been one of
them! What right had he to flaunt such truths before a congregation?
She was not familiar enough with Bible truths to know where he got the
story. It did not seem a story. It was just her Eden where she walked
and ate what fruit she might desire every day without a thought of any
command that might have been issued. She recognized no commands. What
right had God to command her? The serpent had whispered early to her,
"Thou shalt not surely die." Her only question was ever whether the
fruit was pleasant to the eyes and a tree to be desired to make one
wise. Till now there had been no Lord God walking in her garden in the
cool of the day. Only her mother, and she was easy to evade. She had
never been really afraid, nor felt her little soul naked till now, with
the ugly little man's bright brown eyes upon her, and his words
shivering through her like winds about the unprotected. Hideous things
she had forgotten flung into view and challenged her; and somewhere in
the room there seemed to be One who dared to call her to account. She
looked fiercely back to the speaker, her delicate brows drawn darkly,
her great blue-black eyes fierce in their intensity, her whole face and
attitude a challenge to the sermon. Courtland, absorbed as he was in
what the speaker had to say, thrilling with the message that came to his
soul welcomely, became aware of the tense little figure by his side,
and, looking down, was pleased that she had forgotten her nonsense and
was listening, and somehow missed the defiance in her attitude.
Gila did not smile when service was over. She went out haughtily,
impatiently, looking about on the throng contemptuously. When Courtland
asked her if she would like to stop a minute and meet the preacher she
threw up her chin with a toss and a "No, indeed!" that left no doubt for
lingering.
Out in the street, away from the crowd somewhat, she suddenly stopped
and stamped her little foot: "I think that man is perfectly
_disgusting_!" she cried. "He ought to be _arrested_! I don't know why
such a man is allowed at large!"
She was fairly panting in her anger. It was as if he had put her to
shame before an assembly.
Courtland turned wonderingly toward her.
"He is outrageous!" she went on. "He has no _right_! I _hate_ him!"
Courtland watched her in amazement. "You can't mean the minister!"
"Minister! He's no minister!" declared Gila. "He's a fanatic! One of the
worst kind. He's a fake! He's uncanny! The idea of daring to talk about
God that way as if He was always around every where! I think it's
_awful_! I should think he'd have everybody in hysterics!"
Gila's voice sounded as if she were almost there herself. She flung
along by his side with a vindictive little click of her high-heeled
boots and a prance of her whole elaborate little person that showed she
was fairly bristling with wrath.
But Courtland's voice was sad with disappointment. "Then you didn't feel
it, after all! I was hoping you did."
"Feel what?" she asked, sharply. "I felt something, yes. What did you
mean?" Her voice had softened wonderfully, and she drew near to him and
slipped her hand again within his arm. There was an eagerness in her
voice that Courtland wholly misinterpreted.
"Feel the Presence!" He said it gently, reverently, as if it were a
magic word, a password to a mutual understanding.
"Presence?" she said, bewildered. "Yes, I felt a presence, but what
presence did you mean?" Her voice was soft with meaning.
"The Presence of God."
She turned upon him and jerked her arm away. "The Presence of God in
that place?" she demanded. "No! _Never!_ How perfectly dreadful! I think
that is irreverent!"
"Irreverent?"
"Yes! Very irreverent!" said Gila, piously. "And a man like that is
profaning holy things. If you really care for religious things you ought
to come to my church, where everything is quiet and orderly and where
there are decent people. Why, those people there to-night looked as if
they might all be thieves and murderers! And outlandish! My soul! I
never saw anything like it! Some of their things must have come out of
the Ark! Did you see that girl with the tight green skirt? Imagine it! A
whole year and a half out of date! I think it is immodest to wear
things when they get out of style like that! And the idea of that man
daring to talk to that kind of people about God coming down to live with
them! I think it was the limit! As if God cared anything about people of
that sort! I think that man ought to be arrested, putting notions into
poor people's heads! It's just such talk as that that makes riots and
things. My father says so! Getting common, stupid people all worked up
about things they can't understand. I think it's wicked!"
Gila raved all the way home. Courtland, for the most part, let her talk
and was silent.
Seated finally in the library, for he could not go away yet, somehow.
There was something he must ask her. He turned to her, calling her for
the first time by her name:
"But, Gila, you said you felt a Presence. What did you mean?"
Gila was silent. The tumult in her face subsided.
She dropped her lashes and played with the frill on the wrist of the
long chiffon sleeve of her blouse. Her eyes beneath their concealing
lashes kindled. Her mouth grew sweet and sensitive, her whole attitude
became shy and alluring. She sat and drooped before the fire, casting
now and then a wide, shy, innocent look up, her face half turned away.
"Does she look adown her apron!" floated the words through his brain.
Ah! Here at last was the Gila he had been seeking! The Gila who would
understand!
"Tell me, Gila!" he said, in an eager, low appeal.
She stirred softly, drooped a little more toward him, her face turned
away till only the charming profile showed against the rich darkness of
a crimson curtain. Now at last he was coming to it!
"It was--_you_--I meant!" she breathed softly.
He sat up sharply. There was subtle flattery in her tone. He could not
fail to be stirred by it.
"Me!" he said, almost sternly. "I don't understand!" but his voice was
gentle, almost tender. She looked so small and scared and
"Solveig"-like.
"You meant _me_!" he said, again. "Won't you please explain?"