Amaldi had not yet seen Loring unduly affected by drink. The latter was
on his guard just at that time. His fear of Belinda made him afraid also
of wine. Wine was the Delilah that delivered him bound hand and foot to
her Philistine sister, Belinda.
Sophy noticed this restraint and a faint hope sprang in her heart. She
felt a sort of sad, maternal yearning over Morris--sad, because the part
of mother-wife was but a melancholy one to take, after having played
Selene to his Endymion. She would have got near him if she could. But
he slammed the door of his heart in her face. What we have ceased to
worship we resent, when it is still a part of our daily existence.
Loring resented Sophy's "superiority" as much as he had once adored it.
He blamed it upon her that Belinda was for him "_l'echanson de
l'amour_," the "_janua diaboli_" of the ancient church. If a wife
repulsed her husband, then she need not wonder when he went elsewhere.
It was plainly her fault. Wives should be mirrors--they should reflect
moods--all moods. The woman who locked out her lawful husband, for such
a high-flown reason as that he had taken a "bit too much," deserved to
have him blown away from her on the four winds of desire. What was
marriage for, if not to bind wives to their duties?
But while Loring had grown _blase_ in his passion for Sophy, his vanity
in the "ownership" of her was still keen. And also, in the depths of
him, he loved her, though with a flat, habituated sort of affection. All
zest had gone out of it. This was why her refusals angered without
piquing him. This was why he feared Belinda. His nature craved ever new
toys, and Belinda was a gorgeously tempting toy. Yet he knew well that
she was pinchbeck compared with Sophy. He had no idea of exchanging the
real thing for the imitation.
He did not mean to give Sophy any serious cause for resentment. Indeed
he was a little in dread of both women. He could not guess exactly what
either would do if too much exasperated. His feeling for Sophy was a
good deal that of the Collector for a unique jewel which he cannot wear,
but which gives him a standing with other Collectors. His feeling for
Belinda, that of an epicure who longs for a dainty that he knows will
disagree with him. But he was rather fond of Belinda in spite of hating
her cordially at times. He found her a congenial pal. He liked her
dare-deviltry when it was not directed against himself. His will and
Belinda's at this time represented the impenetrable wall and the
irresistible ball of the old hypothesis.
And now the little demon chose to madden him by "carrying on" with that
"dago."... Loring was horribly jealous of Amaldi.
He and Belinda were both very careful when in Sophy's presence. Quick
as she usually was in "feeling" things, the common little drama passed
unnoticed by her; so much of it was played "off stage," in the wings.
And her nature was singularly free from suspicion.
Undoubtedly also, the _amour propre_ natural to a beautiful woman who
has been much loved, blinded her. It simply did not occur to her that
Morris could be in love with Belinda. And to Amaldi it never occurred
that Sophy could be blind to what in his eyes was so plainly evident. He
only marvelled at her self-control, and raged futilely at the
humiliation to which she was subjected. It cut him to the quick that she
should care for a cad who "made love" in secret to a wanton girl under
her very roof.
Now, however, Mrs. Horton had come to Newport for a few days. Surely
she, as the girl's mother, would take steps in the matter, which Sophy's
pride had prevented her from taking.
But to Amaldi's intense amazement, Belinda's mother seemed quite unaware
of anything unusual. It was on the third day after her arrival that a
most extraordinary scene took place. The afternoon was misty. Tea was
served indoors instead of on the lawn. As usual Belinda and Loring came
in from a long ride together.
Belinda still kept up an intermittent coquetry with Amaldi, though he
did not meet her with the complaisance of those first days. Italians
particularly object to being used as cat's-paws, even by a pretty woman.
And in this instance Amaldi's natural aversion from serving such a
purpose was increased by his resentment on behalf of Sophy.
Belinda was very wroth with Morris this afternoon. He had chosen to tell
her, just now, with the brutality of self-defense driven to its limits,
that Sophy's "little finger was worth a shipload of her" (Belinda). She
determined to punish him. She dropped into a low chair near Amaldi, and
leaned forward, chin in hand, her lambent, impish eyes on his.
"_Come sta_, Amaldi?" she said. "I haven't seen you for a month of
Sundays. You're really much better looking than I remembered."
"Accept my humble gratitude," replied Amaldi with ironic exaggeration.
She blinked her eyes slowly, pondering this remark. She thought his
dryness the result of her neglect of him for the past week. Poor dear!
He was jealous of Morry. Well, now Morry should be jealous of him.
"What's on that ring?" she asked suddenly. "I hate men to wear rings as
a rule--but that dark blue is ripping on your hand. I suppose you know
you've got dandy hands?"
"You overwhelm me," said Amaldi as before.
"Not much I don't! I know your jeering way.... But I think you'd be
rather interesting to overwhelm all the same ... to really overwhelm, I
mean."
"But I assure you that is my state at present."
"Pooh!" said Belinda, laughing. She drew her chair a little closer.
"Come, you haven't told me what's on your ring."
"My _stemma_--the coat-of-arms of my family."
He did not offer to show her the ring. She bent nearer, gazing at it.
"What's the motto?" she asked, her face close to his hand.
"'_Che prendo--tengo_,'" said Amaldi.
"And what does it mean?"'
"'What I take--I keep.'"
"I believe you!" she exclaimed boldly. She flashed her eyes to his. "You
look as if you'd know how to keep what you chose to take. You've got
such a very 'Don't-monkey-with-the-buzz-saw' air about you. It rather
fascinates me...."
"You raise me to vertiginous heights," said Amaldi in the same tone.
"Oh, come off!" retorted Belinda with her joyous grin.
Sophy was talking with Mrs. Horton and paid no attention to this
murmured dialogue, but Loring's eyes were fixed angrily upon them, as he
sat smoking on one of the cushioned window-sills.
All at once Belinda put out her hand and touched the sapphire that
Amaldi wore--then held up her finger.
"Lend it to me...." she said. "I've fallen in love with it."
Amaldi flushed. The ring had been his mother's. She had put it on his
finger herself the day that he was twenty.
"Well?" laughed Belinda. "What are you afraid of? I'm not proposing to
you.... I shan't steal it...."
There was no other course left him. Amaldi drew off the ring in silence
and held it towards her. He did not offer to put it on her finger.
"'Fraid-cat!" she mocked. She snatched it from him and slipped it on
herself. The ring that had fitted Amaldi's little finger fitted her
third finger perfectly.
She gazed delighted at the carved sapphire against her white, velvety
skin. Then she jumped up and danced away, holding up her hand before
her, and chanting:
"'What I take--I keep!' 'What I take--I keep!'-- You'll whistle long and
loud before you get this beauty back, Amaldi!"
Amaldi was rather pale, but smiling. He said nothing. Mrs. Horton called
sharply:
"What on earth are you about, Linda?-- What are you making such a noise
for?"
"Oh, nothing ... just a little game I've been playing with Amaldi."
"Well do be quieter ... you're really _too_ noisy."
She went back to her talk with Sophy. But though Sophy listened, her
eyes followed Belinda.
Loring got down from his seat on the window-sill, and sauntered forward.
He met Belinda in the middle of the room.
"Go and give that ring back," he said in a low voice.
"Not much!" laughed Belinda.
"Yes, you will."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
"You'll make me, I suppose?"
"Yes-- I will."
"Pouf! Just try it...."
She pirouetted insolently, and he caught her by one arm. Then began a
most astonishing scuffle. Belinda escaped, and rushed to the farthest
end of the room. Morris bounded after her--caught her again. She turned
and twisted in his grasp. Her red-brown mane came down; she struck at
him, tried to bite his hand where it gripped her.
Amaldi sat like an image watching this, to him, appalling game of romps.
His face was as expressionless as a Chinaman's. He thought he had never
looked on a cruder exhibition of sex-provocation. He thought his ears
deceived him when he heard Mrs. Horton exclaim:
"Did you ever see such a pair of children! Linda! Morry! You'll break
something... _Do_ behave! Can't you make Morry behave, Sophy?... Oh,
dear! What do you _mean_ by behaving like this, Linda?"
Amaldi thought this question most unnecessary. He thought Belinda's
meaning only too painfully lucid. He was astounded to hear Sophy's
sweet, natural laughter.
"Morris!" she called. "Belinda! You really shouldn't romp like this
before Amaldi. He'll think you're demented...."
("'Demented!'" thought Amaldi.)
For the first time it dawned on him that perhaps Sophy did not take in
the situation after all. Then he glanced at Belinda, panting, flushed,
bacchante-like, in the grip of the white-faced, angry-eyed man who was
trying to drag the ring from her finger. No! It was impossible. The
others _must_ see a thing so flagrant, so palpable. But Mrs. Horton
continued to exclaim helplessly at intervals:
"Oh, what _children_! What _babies_!"
While Sophy merely sat resigned, waiting for the hurricane to subside.
Loring conquered, of course. He strode up to Amaldi and dropped the ring
into his hand, while Belinda sank down on a distant sofa, gasping out:
"You're a _brute_, Morry!... I _hate_ you!"
Loring gave a short laugh, and strolled out of the room.
Amaldi also took his leave in a frame of mind that may be described as
bewildered.