"You were so busy"--an imperceptible nod indicated Marbridge--"I felt
myself becoming ornamental. Whereas, utility's my proudest attribute. So
I left you dancing, and skipped by the light of the moon."
"Not really?"
"I assure you--"
"Put out with me, I mean?"
He sought her eyes again and found them veiled and downcast. "Not the
least in the world."
"Then, again, why--?"
"I wanted to get back to work. Besides, I had a little business with a
manager."
And so he had; but until this moment he had forgotten it.
"Play business?"
"I'm afraid I know no other."
"Is something new to be produced?"
Matthias nodded: "Goes into rehearsal in August. A melodrama I wrote
some time ago--'The Jade God.'"
"Who produces it?"
"Rideout."
"Who's he?"
"A foolish actor: played a sketch of mine in vaudeville for a couple of
years and, because that got over, thinks this piece must."
"But it will, won't it?"
"I hope so; but I'm glad it's not my money."
"And where will you open?"
"Heaven and the Shuberts only know. Rideout books through the Shuberts,
you understand."
"I'm afraid I don't."
"The Shuberts are the Independents--the opposition to the Syndicate
headed by Klaw and Erlanger. You see, the theatres of this country are
practically all controlled by one or the other combination. If you want
booking for your show, you've got to take sides--serve God or Mammon."
"And which is which?"
"The difference is imperceptible to the innocent bystander."
"But you'll let us know--?"
"If we open within motoring distance of Town--rather!"
Tankerville, edging his plump little body forward on his chair,
manoeuvred his round and sun-scorched face in vain attempts to catch
his wife's eye past the intervening candelabrum. Helena, however,
divined his desire.
"Coffee in the card-room, George?"
"Please!" Tankerville bleated plaintively.
There was a concerted movement from the table.
Venetia lingered with Matthias.
"It's auction, tonight. Shall you play?"
"'Fraid I'll have to. So will you. Helena--you know--"
"Of course. We must. Only"--she sighed, petulant--"I'd rather not. I'd
rather talk to you."
"Heroic measures!" he laughed. "But--consolation note!--we're two over
two full tables. Therefore we'll have to cut in and out. That'll give us
some time to ourselves."
"Yes," she agreed: "but it'll be just our luck to be disengaged at
different times."
He paused in amused incredulity. "Do you really want to talk to me as
badly as all that?"
She nodded, curtaining her eyes.
"Very much," she said softly.
They entered the card-room and were summoned to different tables.
Matthias cut and edged Mrs. Cardrow out by a single pip. How Venetia
fared he did not learn, more than that she was to play while Marbridge
was to stay out the first rubber.
He played even less intelligently than usual, with a mind distracted.
Venetia's new attitude, pleasant as had been all their association, was
a development of disconcerting suddenness; or else he had been witless
and blind beyond relief. And yet--how could he say? He was so frequently
misled by faculties befogged with dreaming, that overlooked when they
did not flatly deny the obvious: it was possible that Helena had been
more wise than he.
A sense of strain handicapped his judgment; whether atmospheric or bred
of his own emotion, he could not tell. And yet, plumbing the deeps of
his humour, he discovered nothing there more exacting than bewilderment,
more exciting than hope. On the other hand, he could fix upon nothing in
the bearing of these amiable people to lead him to believe that the
feeling of tensity to which he was susceptible was not the creation of
his own fancy. They played with a certain abandon of enjoyment, absorbed
in their diversion....
Looking past Venetia, at the other table--Venetia slim and tall and
worshipful in a wonderful black gown that rendered dazzling the
whiteness of her flesh--he could see Mrs. Cardrow and Marbridge at the
piano in the drawing-room. The woman sat all but motionless, white arms
alone moving graciously in the half-light as her deft hands wandered
over the key-board. Marbridge, his arms folded, lounged over the piano,
his back to the card-room. The eloquent movements of his round, dark
head, its emphatic nods and argumentative waggings, seemed to indicate
that he was bearing the burden of their talk; but the music, hushed
though it was, covered his accents. The woman was looking up into his
face with an expression of quick, pleased interest, her lips,
half-parted, smiling.
It did not occur to Matthias to wonder about the substance of their
conversation. But for a sure clue to the intrigue of Venetia's
heart--and his own--he would have given worlds.
Throwing down his cards, Tankerville announced with satisfaction:
"Game--rubber. Jack, you go out--praise the Saints! You've cost Mrs. Pat
close onto fifteen dollars, more shame to you!"
"Sorry!" Matthias smiled cheerfully, rising. "You would have me play."
"Hearkening and repentance!" retorted Tankerville. "Next time I marry,
you can bet your sweet life I'm going to pick out a family of
sure-'nough bridgers.... Call Mrs. Cardrow, will you now, like a good
fellow."
But Mrs. Cardrow had already left the piano. Matthias held a chair for
her, and then, since the rubber at the other table was not yet decided,
strolled to a window.
The night tempted him. Almost unconsciously he stepped out upon the
terrace and wandered to the parapet.
Abstractedly he lighted a cigarette. When the tobacco was aglow he held
the match from him at arm's-length over the abyss. Its flame burned as
steadily as though protected, flickering out only when, released, it
fell. No night ever more still than this: land and water alike
spellbound in breathless calm; even on the brow of that high foreland
where Tankerville had builded him his lordly pleasure home, no hint of
movement in the air! And yet Matthias was conscious of nothing
resembling oppression--exhilaration, rather. He smiled vaguely into the
darkness.
From far below, echoing up from the placid waters of Port Madison as
from a sounding-board, came the tinkle-tinkle of a banjo and the
complaint of a harmonica. When these were silent the wailing of violins
was clearly audible, bridging a distance of over a mile across the
harbour, from the ball-room of the country club. Far out upon the Sound
the night boat for Boston trudged along like a slow-winging firefly; and
presently its wash swept inshore to rouse the beach below to sibilant
and murmurous protest. In the east the vault of night was pallid, azure
and silver, with the promise of the reluctant moon.
A hand fell gently upon his arm: Venetia's. He had not been aware of her
approach, yet he was not startled. He turned his head slowly, smiling.
She said softly: "Don't say anything--wait till it rises."
They waited in silence. Her hand lingered upon his arm; and that last,
he knew, was trembling. The nearness of her person, the intimacy of her
touch, weighed heavily upon his senses.
An edge of golden light appeared where the skies came down to the sea;
hesitated; increased. That wan and spectral light, waxing, lent emphasis
to the rare and delicious wonder of her loveliness, to the impregnable
mystery of her womanhood. He regarded her with something near awe, with
keen perception of his unworthiness: as a spirit from Heaven had stooped
to commune with him. She lived; breathed; the hand upon his arm was warm
and strong.... Incredible!
The gibbous disk swung clear of the horizon and like some strange
misshapen acrobat climbed a low-lying lattice-work of clouds. The girl
turned away to a huge willow basket-chair. Matthias found its fellow and
drew near to her. He struggled to speak; he fancied that she waited for
him to speak; but his mind refused to frame, his tongue to utter, aught
but the stalest of banalities.
"No dew tonight," he hazarded at length, shame-faced.
After an instant of silence she laughed clearly and gently. "O romantic
man!" she said. "Now that you have, shattered the spell--if you please,
a cigarette."
He supplied this need; held a match; delayed holding it when it had
served its purpose, enraptured with the refulgent wonder of that cameo
of sweet flesh and blood set against the melting shadows, silver and
purple and blue.
With a second low, light laugh, she bent forward and daintily
extinguished the flame with a single puff.
"I don't wish to be stared at...."
"Pardon," he said mechanically, startled. "But ... why?"
"Perhaps I'm afraid you may see too much...."
"Impossible!" he declared with conviction.
"Odd as it may sound," she said in a mocking voice, "I have my secrets."
Her back was to the moon, her face a pallid oval framed in ebony,
illegible; but the moonlight was full upon his face, and she who would
might read. His disadvantage was obvious. It wasn't fair....
Lounging, she crossed her knees, puffed thrice and cast the cigarette
into the gulf. Abruptly she sat forward, studying him intently. He was
disturbed with a singular uneasiness.
"Jack," said Venetia very quietly, "is it true that you love me?"
"Good lord!" he cried, sitting up.
"Is it true?"
He blinked. His head was whirling. He said nothing; sank back; quite
automatically puffed with such fury that in a trice he had reduced the
cigarette to an inch of glowing coal; scorched his fingers and threw it
from him.