MOONLIGHT
The dance was proposed almost immediately. Marley had hoped up to the
very last minute that something, possibly a miracle, would prevent it,
but scarcely had the men finished their first cigarettes before Howard
was saying:
"Well, let's be getting back to the girls. They'll want to dance."
Howard spoke as if the dancing would be a sacrifice on the part of the
men to the pleasure of the girls, but they all turned at once, some of
them flinging their cigarettes into the water, as if to complete the
sacrifice, and started back. When they reached the pavilion, Payson and
Gallard took instruments out of green bags, Payson a guitar and Gallard
a mandolin, and Lawrence, bustling about over the floor, shoving the few
chairs against the unplastered wooden walls, was shouting:
"Tune 'em up, boys, tune 'em up!"
The first tentative notes of the strings twanged in the hollow room, and
Lawrence was asking the girls for dances, scribbling their names on his
cuff with a disregard of its white polished linen almost painful.
"I'll have to divide up some of 'em, you know, girls," he said. "Jim and
Elmer have to play, and that makes us two men shy. But I'll do the best
I can--wish I could take you all in my arms at once and dance with you."
The girls, standing in an expectant, eager little group, clutched one
another nervously, and pretended to sneer at Lawrence's patronage.
Marley was standing with Lavinia near the door. He was trying to affect
an ease; he knew by the way the other girls glanced at him now and then
that they were speculating on his possibilities as a partner; he tried
just then to look as if he were going to dance as all the other men
were, yet he felt the necessity of confessing to Lavinia.
"You know," he said contritely, "that I don't dance."
She looked up, a disappointment springing to her eyes too quickly for
her to conceal it. She was flushed with pleasure and excitement, and
tapping her foot in time with the chords Payson and Gallard were trying
on their instruments. Marley saw her surprise.
"I ought not to have come," he said; "I've no business here."
The look of disappointment in Lavinia's eyes had gone, and in its place
was now an expression of sympathy.
"It makes no difference," she said. And then she added in a low voice:
"I'll not dance either; there are too many of us girls anyway."
"Oh, don't let me keep you from it," said Marley, and yet a joy was
shining in his eyes. She turned away and blushed.
"I'll give you all my dances," she said; "we can sit them out."
"But it won't be any fun for you," protested Marley. And just then
Lawrence came up.
"Say, Glenn," he said, "if you don't want to dance I'll take Lavinia for
the first number."
The guitar and mandolin, after a long preliminary strumming to get
themselves in tune, suddenly burst into _The Georgia Campmeeting_, and
the couples were instantly springing across the floor.
"Come on, Vine," said Lawrence, his fingers twitching. And Lavinia,
eager, trembling, alive, casting one last glance at Marley, said "Just
this one!" and went whirling away with Lawrence.
Marley moved aside, awkwardly, when the couples, sweeping in a long oval
stream around the little room, whirled past him. Lavinia danced with a
grace that almost hurt him; she was laughing as she looked up into
Lawrence's face, talking to him as they danced. Marley felt a gloom,
almost a rage, settle on him. He looked up and down the room. At the
farther end, through the door by which the musicians sat swinging their
feet over their knees in time to the tune they played, he could see the
man who kept the grounds at the lake, looking on at the dance; his wife
was with him, and they smiled contentedly at the joy of the young
people.
Marley could not bear their joy, any more than he could bear the joy of
the dancers, and he looked away from them. Glancing along the wall he
saw a girl, sitting alone. It was Grace Winters; she was older than the
others, and she sat there sullenly, her dark brows contracted under her
dark hair. Marley felt drawn toward her by a common trouble, and he
thought, instantly, that he might appear less conspicuous if he went and
sat beside her. As he approached, her sallow face brightened with a
brilliant smile of welcome and she drew aside her skirts to make a place
for him, though there was no one else on all that side of the room.
Marley sat down.
"It's warm, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes," Miss Winters replied, "almost too warm to dance, don't you
think?"
Marley tried to express his acquiescence in the polite smile he had seen
the other men use before the dance began, but he did not feel that he
carried it off very well.
"I should think you'd be dancing, Mr. Marley," Miss Winters said. "I
hear you are a splendid dancer. Don't you care to dance this evening?"
"I can't dance," said Marley, crudely.
He was looking at Lavinia, following her young figure as it glided past
with Lawrence. Miss Winters turned away. Her face became gloomy again,
and she said nothing more. Marley was absorbed in Lavinia, and they sat
there together silent, conspicuous and alone, in a wide separation.
Marley thought the dance never would end. It seemed to him that the
dancers must drop from fatigue; but at last the mandolin and guitar
ceased suddenly, the girls cried out a disappointed unisonant "Oh!" and
then they all laughed and clapped their hands. Lavinia and Lawrence were
coming up, glowing with the joy of the dance.
"Oh, that was splendid, Jack!" Lavinia cried, putting back her hair with
that wave of her hand.
Lawrence's face was redder than ever. He leaned over and in a whisper
that was for Lavinia and Marley together he said:
"Lavinia, you're the queen dancer of the town." And then he turned to
Miss Winters.
"Grace," he said, distributing himself with the impartiality he felt his
position as a social leader demanded, "you've promised me a dance for a
long time. Now's my chance."
"Why certainly, Jack," Miss Winters said, with her brilliant smile, and
then she took Lawrence's arm and drew him away, as if otherwise he might
escape.
"Take me outdoors!" said Lavinia to Marley. "Those big lamps make it
_so_ hot in here."
Marley was glad to leave, and they went out on to the little piazza of
the pavilion. Lavinia stood on the very edge of the steps, and drank in
the fresh air eagerly.
"Oh!" she said. "Oh! Isn't it delicious!"
The darkness lay thick between the trees. The air was rich with the
scent of the mown fields that lay beyond the grove. The insects shrilled
contentedly. Marley stood and looked at Lavinia, standing on the edge of
the steps, her body bent a little forward, her face upturned. She put
back her hair again.
"Let's go on down!" she said, a little adventurous quality in her tone.
She ran lightly down the steps, Marley after her.
"Won't you take cold?" he asked, bending close to her.
She looked up and laughed. They were walking on, unconsciously making
their way toward the edge of the little lake. Marley felt the white form
floating there beside him and a happiness, new, unknown before, came to
him. They were on the edge of the little lake. Before them the water
lay, dark now, and smooth. A small stage was moored to the shore and a
boat was fastened to it. They could hear the light lapping of the water
that barely stirred the boat. Presently Lavinia ran out on to the stage.
She gave a little spring, and rocked it up and down; then smiled up at
Marley like a child venturing in forbidden places. Marley stepped
carefully on to the stage.
"Isn't it a perfect night?" Lavinia said, looking up at the dark purple
sky, strewn with all the stars. Marley looked at her white throat.
"The most beautiful night I ever knew!" he said. He spoke solemnly,
devoutly, and Lavinia turned and gazed on him. Marley touched the boat
with the toe of his shoe.
"We might row," he said almost timidly.
"Could we?" inquired Lavinia.
"If we may take the boat."
"Oh, of course--anybody may. Can you row?"
Marley laughed. He had rowed in the college crew on the old Olentangy at
Delaware. His laugh was a complete answer to Lavinia. She approached the
boat, and Marley bent over and drew it alongside the stage.
"Get in," he said. It was good to find something he could do. He helped
her carefully into the boat, and held it firmly until she had arranged
herself in the stern, her feet against the cleats, and her white skirts
tucked about her. Then he took his seat, shipped the oars and shoved
off. He swept the boat out into the deep water, and rowed away up the
lake. He rowed precisely, feathering his oars, that she might see how
much a master he was. They did not speak for a long time. First one,
then the other, of the little islands swept darkly by; the water slapped
the bow of the boat as Marley urged it forward. The lights of the
pavilion on the shore twinkled an instant, then went out behind the
trees. They could hear the distant mellow thrumming of the guitar and
the tinkle of the mandolin.
"Are you too cool?" he asked presently.
"Oh, no, not at all!" said Lavinia.
"Hadn't you better take my coat?" Marley persisted. The idea of putting
his coat about her thrilled him.
"You'll need it," she said.
"No, I'll be warm rowing."
She shook her head, and smiled. They drifted on. Still came the distant
strumming of the guitar and the tinkle of the mandolin. Marley thought
of the young people dancing, and then, noting Lavinia's silence, he
asked, out of the doubt that was his one remaining annoyance:
"Wouldn't you rather be back there dancing?"
"No, no!" she answered softly.
"I'm ashamed of myself."
"Why?" She started a little.
"Because I can't dance!" There was guilt in his tone.
"You mustn't feel that way about it," Lavinia said. "It's nothing."
"Isn't it?"
"No. It's easy to learn."
"I never could learn."
Lavinia was still, and Marley thought she assented to this. But in
another moment she spoke again.
"I--" she began, and then she hesitated.
Marley stopped rowing and rested on his oars. The water lapped the bows
of the boat as it slackened its speed.
"I could teach you," Lavinia went on.
"Could you?" Marley leaned forward eagerly.
"I'd like to." She was trailing one white hand in the water.
"Will you?"
"Yes," she said. "We can do it over at Mayme's--any time. She'll play
for us."
Marley felt a great gratitude, and he wondered how he could pour it
forth upon her.
"You are too good to me," he exclaimed.
Then, suddenly, a change came over the dark surface of the waters. A
mellow quality touched them; they seemed to tremble ecstatically, then
they broke into sparkling ripples; the air quivered with a luminous
beauty and a light flooded the little valley. Marley and Lavinia turned
instinctively and looked up, and there, over the tops of the trees,
black a moment before, now rounded domes of silver, rose the moon. They
gazed at it a long time. Finally Marley turned and looked at Lavinia.
Her white dress had become a drapery, her arms gleamed, her eyes were
lustrous in the transfiguration of the moonlight. He could see that her
lips were slightly parted, and her fingertips, dipped in the cool water
over the gunwale of the boat, trailed behind them a long narrow thread
of silver. They looked into each other's eyes, and neither spoke. They
drifted on. At last, Marley said:
"Lavinia!"
She stirred.
"Do you know--" he began, and then he stopped. "Don't you know," he went
on, "can't you see, that I love you?"
He rested his arms on the oars, and leaned over toward her.
"I've loved you ever since that first night--do you remember? I know--I
know I'm not good enough, but can't you--can't I--love you?"
He saw her eyelids fall, and as she turned and looked over the side of
the boat, she put forth her hand, and he took it.
They were awakened from the dream by a call, and after what seemed to
Marley a long time, he finally remembered the voice as Lawrence's.
"We must go back," he said reluctantly. "How long have we been gone?"
"I don't know," said Lavinia. He heard her sigh.
Marley pulled the boat in the direction whence came the hallooing voice;
he had quite lost all notion of their whereabouts. But presently they
saw the lights of the pavilion, and then the dark figures of the men,
and the white figures of the girls on shore.
As they pulled up and Marley sprang out of the boat to the landing
stage, Lawrence said:
"Well, where have you babes been?"
Marley helped Lavinia out of the boat.
"We've been rowing," he said.
"We thought you'd been drowned," said Lawrence.
Marley and Lavinia drove home together in silence. In the light of the
moon, the road was silver, and the fields with their shocks of wheat
were gold.