Nelly, upon receiving at noon of the following day Melissa’s ardent
confession, lifted her eyebrows, sighed and shook hands across the
table ... once more of the Roof-Tree Inn.
“I’m disappointed, of course,” she said ... “but not too surprised.
A job wasn’t really what you wanted. You tried to escape from it in
the first place ... subconscious honesty on your part. You belong in
some man’s home. You were trying blindly to get there. Of course the
thing was complicated by your insistence on caring for the man. You’re
a born lover, Melissa--that’s your trouble! It makes anything else
seem--unimportant--to you. It shows in you, too ... like deep red in
a rose. That’s what drew all those men around you.” She sketched a
crooked pattern on the table with her thumbnail. “Thing I don’t get is
... out of the lot of them--Ben Carroll! In Heaven’s name, why?”
Nelly knew him. Nelly had known him for years. Casually. Without
any desire to know him more nearly. She had met him on parties with
Roderick--and Luke.
“Nelly--don’t you think he’s--wonderful?”
“No--can’t say I do. He’s got a pleasant voice....”
“Pleasant! He’s got the most beautiful voice I ever listened to! And
his eyes, Nelly ... and the way he carries his head....”
“This,” said Nelly Rivers grinning, “is hardly decent. You’ll admit his
hair’s red--or won’t you?”
“Bronze,” said Melissa, shamefaced.
“Good Lord! It’s brindle. And he’s so abominably sure of himself.”
“Nelly--a big man’s got to be!”
“He isn’t a big man yet--by long odds ... he’s a poor young lawyer with
the political bee in his bonnet. He’s a dreamer....”
“So am I,” said Melissa softly.
“He’s ambitious--with nothing to go on.”
“Ambition--like his--finds something to go on.”
“As his wife you’ll have your head in the clouds--but your toes in the
ashes, my dear--”
“Well--I’ll have his heart in my hand, which makes it even,” said
Melissa.
She looked at Nelly imploringly.
“Pansy-eyes!” said Nelly. “I hate to see you being such a fool. He
isn’t worth it. He’s just one more nice young man ... he hasn’t half
Luke’s charm....”
“He has twice Luke’s strength....”
“Roderick could take much better care of you ... if you’ve got to marry
some one.”
“Roderick would bore me--past caring for.”
“Have it your own way! Marry him and go along with him. Take all the
disillusionment--that’s coming to you!... But when your head clears and
you can see the road again ... pick yourself up and come back--the
latch-string’s always out.”
“Oh, Nelly--” said Melissa with unsteady lip, “--a lover like Ben ...
and a friend like you!...”
“Sunk--aren’t you?” said Nelly cheerfully. “Well--sweets to the sweet,
old dear! Don’t make yourself too sick--that’s all. I’ve got to run
along, now. God knows what I’ll say to Brooks! I told him you were
sworn to Celibacy.”
“I saw him this morning,” said Melissa humbly. “He wasn’t pleased. But
he wasn’t too--unpleasant.”
“Oh, I haven’t a doubt,” said Nelly, pulling on her gloves and settling
her hat with an impatient touch--“if the Angel of the flaming sword had
been a male--and you had been Eve--you’d be in the Garden yet! Cheerio!”
She left Melissa slightly disconcerted. It appeared, by way of Nelly,
that Carroll, in the eye of the unprejudiced observer, was “just
one more nice young man.” Not the dream come true--the ineffable
unbelievable dream--but merely a “poor young lawyer--brindle-haired ...
with the political bee in his bonnet.”
Melissa had a moment’s terrifying sense of walking in mist which might
at any moment dissolve and leave her on barren shores.
Something Luke had once said came into her mind ... “All you’ve got is
the world you’re in ... you’re inside a bubble of your own blowing ...
sit tight and pray it doesn’t burst with you....”
But if one believed the bubble to be the world--it _was_ the
world--while one believed it. There wasn’t any world outside one’s
belief in it. And what one saw in one’s lover, he _was_ ... whether any
one else saw him so or not.
Just as the beautiful woman, the white flame of existence, that he saw
in oneself, became (directly a taxi-driver regarded her--or a clerk in
a shop--or a boy on the street, say)--merely a rather pretty person,
needing perhaps, a little powder on her nose.
“Love--” thought Melissa--“is seeing each other clear! Outsiders have
murky vision.”
Carroll talked to her early in the afternoon over the telephone and
she promised to meet him at half-past five at the entrance to the
Marchesa’s apartment.
“I’d like to see her--just this once more--” said Melissa, “after
all--except for her, we wouldn’t have....”
“Oh, yes, we would--somehow!” said Carroll.
Even over the wire the deep tones of his voice, its drawling caress,
its beautiful vibrant clearness stirred Melissa’s senses while it spoke
to her soul.
“You’ll meet me there, won’t you, Ben?”
“Meet you anywhere.”
“At half-after five?”
“Awfully late.”
“It can’t be any earlier. She sleeps in the afternoon. I just want to
say good-by to her--and tell her about us.”
“Don’t tell her too much. She might talk you out of it.”
“Nobody could.”
“You mean that?”
“You know I do.”
“Very well--I’ll let you go, then. Don’t make me wait. I haven’t seen
you in a long time.”
Melissa closed the connection very softly and sat with her hand
against her lips for some moments thereafter. Heavenly nonsense--foam
on an uncharted sea! Words playing over the untellable--like rockets
spangling the illimitable dark.
She called Anna and asked if she might see the Marchesa at five.
Anna, perennially ungracious, conveyed the fact that she might--at
five--no later.
“Thank you, Anna,” said Melissa. She could have thanked the sun that
day for being in the sky.
At five, to the moment, she rang the Marchesa’s bell and was admitted.
Yellow roses, drooping on the tea-table beside the frosted silver
tea-service, the shallow Dresden cups; yellow roses and violets on the
mantel-shelf among the uniformed and tail-coated suitors attitudinizing
in their too ornate frames. The Spanish shawl bloomed dimly along an
end of the piano. On the chaise longue foolish little heart-shaped and
circular cushions of Normandy lace still invited to doubtful repose.
On the walls, Paolo, once aide to the King of Italy, still proclaimed
across a faithful trouser-leg, “Toute à vous, Amalie!” ... Paolo and
others. Pointing the fading innuendoes of the naughty French prints.
Inferring all things possible to youth and beauty and passion.
Discreetly recording--nothing--beyond a pretty phrase and a signature.
The Marchesa sat in the winged chair and looked Melissa over with the
eyes of an old lady eagle who has been much given to sun-worship. She
waved a small pink-nailed claw, heavy with diamonds. She said with a
cracked chuckle:
“Well--well! I thought I had seen the last of you. Changed your mind,
have you? Come back for a second helping. It’s no earthly use, my good
girl. Do sit down! Makes me nervous--your standing over me like that.
Have you gotten thinner? You look so tall. And you need a good deal
more rouge. Sit down and tell me to what I owe the pleasure of this
visit--though I warn you--it’s not the least use! You had your chance
and you threw it away. You made your bed and you can lie on it.” She
added a delicate jest in impeccable French.
Melissa felt all the old antagonism rise in her like a wave. Her color
rose with it.
“That blush of yours is the best thing about you,” observed the
Marchesa critically. “Don’t waste it on me. I’m no longer interested.
When I think what you might have done--with my assistance....”
Melissa said clearly, holding herself well in check. “That is why I am
here. I only want to thank you ... for having given me a chance ... to
meet ... the man I am going to marry.” She looked the Marchesa fair in
the eyes and knew, not without a tinge of malicious triumph--instantly
regretted--that she had scored and underscored in the announcement.
“Marry ... what ... what man?” cried the Marchesa shrilly. She clenched
withered fingers on the arms of her chair, staring into Melissa’s face,
like a rouged and powdered fury, with silver curls for snakes. “Do you
mean to tell me, Roderick has been after you again? In spite of all I
said to him?... You’re lying!... I don’t believe you ... he’s got far
too much sense ... besides, I have other plans....”
“I am not speaking of your nephew,” said Melissa coldly. The Marchesa’s
venom sickened her. She hurried on, her whole being turning to the
street below, to Ben, perhaps even now, waiting ... watching the
doorway for her....
“I am going to marry Ben Carroll,” she said while the Marchesa’s
fingers relaxed and her jaw dropped ... “he is a friend of Mr.
Delano’s. I met him in Mr. Delano’s apartment. I don’t know if you know
him.”
The Marchesa looked at Melissa for a long curious moment in silence.
“Ben Carroll--” she said at length. “Ben Carroll! Of course I know
him! That red-headed ne’er-do-weel from Alabama. Upon my word you have
feathered your nest! He’s poor as Job’s turkey....”
“So he tells me,” said Melissa smiling.
“You’re in love with him!” said the Marchesa abruptly. “You’ve got that
moony look you used to have--when--when I talked about Roderick--before
you ever met him ... wait a moment! wait a moment! I think I begin to
see.... Oh--this is too much!”
“I’m sorry--I can’t wait--” interrupted Melissa, rising in a panic.
Ferret and pointer again! That horrid eager sniffing at the door of
one’s dearest secrecies ... that uncanny shrill outcry ... it came
while she dreaded it ... the Marchesa burst into peal after peal of
thin hysteric laughter.
“Carroll was your Mister Roderick--was he? I don’t know just how but
give me time and I’ll have it! ... he must have been! You’ve got the
same look when you speak of him. And--I remember now--it all comes back
to me--you thought Roderick so changed. The first night you saw him.
Oh, mon Dieu--imagine Roderick with red hair! Imagine Roderick with any
hair at all!... He’s been bald for years ... so many good men are.”
“I’m sorry,” said Melissa, chill as frost, “--I really must go--it’s
half-after five....”
“Half-after five ... sacr-r-ré! ...” the Marchesa’s amusement
evaporated instantly. Her interest with it. She displayed all at once
an almost feverish willingness to speed the parting guest. She gestured
toward the door. She grimaced sweetly. She scattered farewell phrases
like largesse.
“I hope you’ll be very happy, I’m sure!--Though I must say I doubt
it. With no money--and that hair! Temperament of course. He’ll be
unfaithful to you in no time.... I’d no idea it was so late ... don’t
let me keep you! So glad to have seen you again, Melissa....”
Melissa said good-by and went, slightly annoyed, not unnaturally, to be
thus evicted.
On the threshold she heard a sudden flow of speech behind her. The
Marchesa, to Anna, in urgent command.
“When that girl from the library comes, Anna ... have her up at
once--at once, do you hear! And, Anna ... you might bring in some
sherry and biscuits....”
A reminiscent bit of business.
Melissa waited for the elevator, oddly startled.
Stepping into it when it came, she brushed against a girl stepping out.
A pretty creature in a simple dark frock, with a small dark hat on her
bright hair, mutinous eyes, a sulky red mouth.
“Can you tell me--I want the apartment of the Marchesa di Ricci.”
Melissa listened spellbound while the slave of the elevator gave
direction.
Going down, she wondered ... and put wonder away from her.
What did it matter--what did anything matter except the man in the
doorway, waiting?
He took the hand she put out to him, he looked down at her. He was
himself of the picture, he was himself of the night before ... he was
reality no longer to be questioned, in the midst of a shifting world.
He said: “How have you been?” his voice slightly unsteady.
Melissa couldn’t answer. She slipped her hand inside his arm. They
turned west--for no reason at all.
He said: “Where’ll we go for dinner?”
Melissa, getting hold of herself, replied: “There’s a little
rotisserie, on Sixth Avenue....”
“All right--we’ll find a taxi.”
“No, we won’t--we’ll take a bus.”
“Melissa--I’ve got something for you ...” he took a small box out of
his pocket. A slight tremor about his mouth--barely a smile--wrung
Melissa’s heart. “Do I have to give it to you on top of a bus?”
“There’s a taxi!” said Melissa.
He signaled. The taxi drew up.
“Miss me to-day?” he asked, helping Melissa in.
She turned her head and touched her lips to his coat-sleeve.
The door closed. The taxi lurched forward.
“Where did you tell him to go?” asked Melissa.
“Anywhere he liked,” said Ben Carroll.
Melissa put out her left hand ... made a wistful face.
“It was my mother’s,” said Ben Carroll and slipped a cluster of pearls
on her finger.
Early dusk--and the taxi rattled swiftly along. They kissed, in its
undersea gloom. Their hands clung hard.
“Always!” he said.
Melissa whispered: “As long as I live.”
Brave words ... beautiful as old battle-flags, riddled with bullets,
ragged with time, ... but able still to draw men to follow!
* * * * *
At that moment the Marchesa was saying, between sips of sherry and
greedy bites at a biscuit.... “I’ll expect you, of course to confide in
me, absolutely--to come to me about everything. What we can’t do, my
dear--with your youth--and my experience!”
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
- Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.
- Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.
- Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.
- Variations in hyphenation kept as in the original.