The Business of Life. Chambers Robert William

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      The cat woke up and regarded him gravely; he said to her:

      "You don't even need a pocket-book, do you? And you are quite right; having things is a nuisance. The less one owns the happier one is. Do you think I'll have sense enough to remember this to-morrow, and not be ass enough to acquire more – a responsibility, for example? Do you think I can be trusted to mind my business when she comes to-morrow? And not say something that I'll be surely sorry for some day – or something she'll be sorry for? Because she's so pretty, pussy – so disturbingly pretty – and so sweet. And I ought to know by this time that intelligence and beauty are a deadly combination I had better let alone until I find them in the other sort of girl. That's the trouble, pussy." He lifted the sleepy cat and held it at arm's length, where it dangled, purring all the while. "That's the trouble, kitty. I haven't the slightest intentions; and as for friends, men prefer men. And that's the truth, between you and me. It's rather rotten, isn't it, pussy? But I'll be careful, and if I see that she is capable of caring for me, I'll go South before it hurts either of us. That will be the square thing to do, I suppose – and neither of us the worse for another week together."

      He placed the cat on the floor, where it marched to and fro with tail erect, inviting further attentions. But Desboro walked about, turning out the electric lights, and presently took himself off to bed, fixed in a resolution that the coming week should be his last with this unusual girl. For, after all, he concluded she had not moved his facile imagination very much more than had other girls of various sorts, whose souvenirs lay now in cinders on his hearth, and long since had turned to ashes in his heart.

      What was the use? Such affairs ended one way or another – but they always ended. All he wanted to find out, all he was curious about, was whether such an unusual girl could be moved to response – he merely wanted to know, and then he would let her alone, and no harm done – nothing to disturb the faint fragrance of a pretty souvenir that he and she might carry for a while – a week or two – perhaps a month – before they both forgot.

      And, conscious of his good intentions, feeling tranquil, complacent, and slightly noble, he composed himself to slumber, thinking how much happier this world would be if men invariably behaved with the self-control that occasionally characterised himself.

      In the city, Jacqueline lay awake on her pillow, unable to find a refuge in sleep from the doubts, questions, misgivings assailing her.

      Wearied, impatient, vexed, by turns, that her impulse and decision should keep her sleepless – that the thought of going back to Silverwood should so excite her, she turned restlessly in her bed, unwilling to understand, humiliated in heart, ashamed, vaguely afraid.

      Why should she have responded to an appeal from such a man as Desboro? Her own calm judgment had been that they had seen enough of each other – for the present, anyway. Because she knew, in her scared soul, that she had not meant it to be final – that some obscure idea remained of seeing him again, somewhere.

      Yet, something in his voice over the wire – and something more disturbing still when he spoke so coolly about going South – had swayed her in her purpose to remain aloof for a while. But there was no reason, after all, for her to take it so absurdly. She would go once more, and then permit a long interval to elapse before she saw him again. If she actually had, as she began to believe, an inclination for his society, she would show herself that she could control that inclination perfectly.

      Why should any man venture to summon her – for it was a virtual summons over the wire – and there had been arrogance in it, too. His curt acquiescence in her decision, and his own arbitrary decision to go South had startled her out of her calmly prepared rôle of business woman. She was trying to recall exactly what she had said to him afterward to make his voice change once more, and her own respond so happily.

      Why should seeing him be any unusual happiness to her – knowing who and what he had been and was – a man of the out-world with which she had not one thing in common – a man who could mean nothing to her – could not even remain a friend because their two lives would never even run within sight of each other.

      She would never know anybody he knew. They would never meet anywhere except at Silverwood. How could they, once the business between them was transacted? She couldn't go to Silverwood except on business; he would never think of coming here to see her. Could she ask him – venture, perhaps, to invite him to dinner with some of her friends? Which friends? Cynthia and – who else? The girls she knew would bore him; he'd have only contempt for the men.

      Then what did all this perplexity mean that was keeping her awake? And why was she going back to Silverwood? Why! Why! Was it to see with her own eyes the admiration for herself in his? She had seen it more than once. Was it to learn more about this man and his liking for her – to venture a guess, perhaps, as to how far that liking might carry him with a little encouragement – which she would not offer, of course?

      She began to wonder how much he really did like her – how greatly he might care if she never were to see him again. Her mind answered her, but her heart appealed wistfully from the clear decision.

      Lying there, blue eyes open in the darkness, head cradled on her crossed arms, she ventured to recall his features, summoning them shyly out of space; and she smiled, feeling the tension subtly relaxing.

      Then she drifted for a while, watching his expression, a little dreading lest even his phantom laugh at her out of those eyes too wise.

      Visions came to her awake to reassure her; he and she in a sleigh together under the winter stars – he and she in the sunlight, their skates flashing over the frozen meadows – he and she in the armoury, heads together over some wonder of ancient craftsmanship – he and she at luncheon – in the library – always he and she together in happy companionship. Her eyelids fluttered and drooped; and sleep came, and dreams – wonderful, exquisite, past belief – and still of him and of herself together, always together in a magic world that could not be except for such as they.

      CHAPTER VI

      When the sombre morning broke at last, Jacqueline awoke, sprang from her bed, and fluttered away about her dressing as blithely as an April linnet in a hurry.

      She had just time to breakfast and catch her train, with the help of heaven and a taxicab, and she managed to do it about the same moment that Desboro, half a hundred miles away, glanced out of his dressing-room window and saw the tall trees standing like spectres in the winter fog, and the gravel on the drive shining wet and muddy through melting snow. But he turned to the mirror again, whistling a gay air, and twisted his necktie into a smarter knot. Then he went out to the greenhouses and snipped off enough carnations to make a great sheaf of clove-scented blossoms for Jacqueline's room; and after that he proceeded through the other sections of the fragrant glass galleries, cutting, right and left, whatever he considered beautiful enough to do her fresh, young beauty honour.

      At the station, he saw her standing on the platform of the drawing-room car as the train thundered in, veil and raincoat blowing, just as he had seen her there the first time she arrived at Silverwood station.

      The car steps were sheathed in ice; she had already ventured down a little way when he reached her and offered aid; and she permitted him to swing her to the cinder-strewn ground.

      "Are you really here!" he exclaimed, oblivious of interested glances from trainmen and passengers.

      They exchanged an impulsive hand-clasp. Both were unusually animated.

      "Are you well?" she asked, as though she had been away for months.

      "Yes. Are you? It's perfectly fine of you to come" – still retaining her hand – "I wonder if СКАЧАТЬ