"Oh, you wouldn't select a brute. As for the madmen, they are locked
up," answered Ferdie, comfortably.
Eve rose. "I don't know what I shall say next--if I stay here," was her
thought.
"I wish you knew my brother Paul," remarked Ferdie as he lifted himself
from the sand. "_I_ can't argue with you, _I_ can't put you down" (his
smile as he said "put you down" was wonderfully sweet). "But he
could--Paul could; and what's more, he would, too! He hates a woman who
goes on as you do."
"Your brother lives in Canada, I believe?" said Eve, coldly.
"Canada?--what gave you that idea? He loathes Canada. He has charge of a
mine on Lake Superior. He has always worked tremendously hard, poor old
Paul! I have never approved of it, such a steady grind as that."
"What is the name of the place?"
"Port aux Pins; called by the natives Potterpins. Are you thinking of
going there?"
"I may," Eve answered. Her tone was defiant in spite of herself; what
did she care for Port aux Pins and his brother, save for their
connection with his wretched self?
They had begun to walk towards home; Dilsey was in advance with Jack. "I
beg you to urge Cicely to let me have him," Eve began again, her eyes
resting on Jack's little wagon.
"You have made up your mind to ask a favor of me; you must want it
terribly," Ferdie responded. He took off his hat and let the breeze blow
over his forehead. "I will do what I can for you. Of course we cannot,
Cicely and I, give up her child to you entirely; but he might live with
you for part of the year, as you desire it so much. My intention is to
go back to Valparaiso; I like the life there, and I shall make it my
home; there are excellent houses to be had, I have one in view at this
moment. Later, of course, Cicely would wish her boy to come to her
there. But in the meantime, while he is still so young--yes, I will do
what I can for you; you may count upon me."
"Thanks," answered Eve. Her words were humble, but she did not look
humble as she spoke them; Ferdie with his favors and his good-nature
seemed to her more menacing than ever.
The tranquil life went on. Every morning she said to herself, "To-day
something must happen!" But the Arcadian hours continued, and two more
weeks passed slowly by. Eve began to hate the sunshine, the brilliant,
undimmed southern stars.
"My dear, you are growing paler," said Miss Sabrina one day. "Perhaps
this sea-air of ours is not good for you."
Eve wanted to reply: "Is it good to be watching every instant?--to be
listening and starting and thinking one hears something?" "You are
right; it is not," she answered aloud; "all the same, I will stay awhile
longer, if you will let me."
"Oh, my dear--when we want you to _live_ here!"
"Perhaps I shall die here," Eve responded, with a laugh.
Miss Sabrina looked at her in surprise; for the laugh was neither gentle
nor sweet.
Eve was tired, tired mentally and physically; this state of passive
waiting taxed her; action of some sort, even though accompanied by the
hardest conditions, would have been easier to her ardent unconquered
will. She occupied herself with Jack; she said as little as she could to
Ferdie; and she watched Cicely. Underneath this watchfulness there grew
up a strong contempt for love.