The Splendid Outcast. Gibbs George

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      "Excellent," he said gloomily.

      "And now you're vexed. Is there no pleasing a man?"

      "If you'd only stop pleasing – you'd make it easier for me to see a way – "

      She was all attention at once, listening. But he paused and set his coffee-cup down with an air of finality.

      "Stop pleasing! Sure and you must not ask the impossible," she said, her mouth full.

      But he wouldn't smile and only glowered into the fire. "I want you to let me try to pay you what I owe you – to earn your respect and affection – "

      "Well, I'm letting you," she smiled over her coffee-cup.

      "I – I've gotten you under false pretenses – under the spell of a – a temporary emotion – a sense of duty," he rambled, saying partly what Harry might say and partly what was in his own heart. "I want to win the right to you, to show you that – that I'm not as rotten as you used to think me – " He didn't know how far the thought was leading and in fear of it, rose and walked away, suddenly silent.

      "Well," he heard her saying, "I don't think you are."

      Was she laughing at him? He turned toward her again but the back of her dark head was very demure. He approached quite close, near enough to touch her, but she held the coffee-cup to her lips, and then when she had drunk, sprang up and away.

      "What's the use of thinking about the past or the future, alanah, when we have the present – with a gorgeous morning and happy Paris just at our elbows. Allons! You shall wash the coffee-cups and the pot while I put on my hat, for there's nothing like sticking something into a man's hands to keep them out of mischief. And then we'll be wandering forth, you and I, into the realms of delight."

      He was glad at the thought of going out into the air, away from the studio, for here within four walls she was too close to him, their seclusion too intimate. If he only were Harry! He would have taken her tantalizing moods as a husband might and conquered her by strength and tenderness. But as it was, all he could feel beside tenderness was pity for her innocence and helplessness, and contempt and not a little pity for himself.

      But the air of out-of-doors was to restore him to sanity. It was one of those late November days of sunshine, warm and hazy, when outer wraps are superfluous, and arm in arm, like two good comrades, and as the custom was in the Quartier, they sauntered forth, in the direction she indicated. There were to be no vehicles for them, she insisted, for fiacres cost much and money was scarce. Life seemed to be coursing very strongly through her veins, and the more he felt the contagion of her youth and joy, the more trying became the task he had set himself. But sober though he was, within, he could not resist the spell of her enthusiasms and he put the evil hour from him. This day at least should be hers as nearly as he could make it, without a flaw. They turned down the Boul' Miche' and into the Boulevard St. Germain, past the Beaux Arts which she wished to show him, then over the Pont des Arts to the Right Bank. They stopped on the quai for a moment to gaze down toward the towers of Notre Dame, while Moira painted for him the glories that were France. He had lived a busy life and had had little time for the romances of great nations, but he remembered what he had read and, through Moira's clear intelligence, the epic filtered, tinctured with its color and idealism.

      Then under the arches of the Louvre to the Avenue de l'Opera, and toward the banking district. All Paris smiled. The blue and brown mingled fraternally and the streets were crowded. Except for the uniforms, which were seen everywhere, it was difficult to believe that hardly a month ago the most terrible war in history had been fought, almost at the city's gates.

      When he reached his bank, which was in the Boulevard des Italiens, near the Opera, Jim Horton had to move with caution. But Moira fortunately had some shopping to do and in her absence he contrived to get some checks, and going into the Grand Hotel drew a check signed with his own name, and payable to Henry G. Horton, and this he presented for payment. There was some delay and a few questions, for the amount was large – three thousand francs – but he showed the letters from Moira and Quinlevin. It was with a sigh of relief that he went out and met Moira near the Opera. With a grin he caught her by the arm, exhibiting a large packet of bank-notes, and led the way down the avenue by which they had come.

      "And where now, Harry dear?"

      "I'm hungry. To the most expensive restaurant in Paris for déjeuner. If I'm not mistaken we passed it just here."

      "But you must not – I won't permit – "

      He only grinned and led her inside.

      "For to-day at least, Moira, we shall live."

      "But to see Paris, en Anglais, that is not to live – "

      "We shall see."

      The tempting meal that he ordered with her assistance, did much to mollify her prudence and frugality and they breakfasted in state on the best that the market provided.

      Afternoon found them back in the Boulevard St. Germain again, after an eventful interim which Jim Horton had filled, above her protests, in a drive through the Boisand a visit, much less expensive, to a cinema show, during which she held his hand. And now a little weary of all the world, but happy in each other, they drifted like the flotsam of all lovers of the Rive Gauche toward the Gardens of the Luxembourg. They sat side by side on the balustrade overlooking the esplanade and lawn in front of the Palace, watching the passers-by, always paired, piou-piou and milliner, workman and bonne, flaneur and grisette, for the warm weather had brought them out. There was no military band playing, but they needed no music in their hearts, which were already beating in time to the most exquisite of interludes. Twilight was falling, the Paris dusk, full of mystery and elusive charm; lights beyond the trees flickered into being, and the roar of the city beyond their breathing-spot diminished into a low murmur. For a while their conversation had relapsed into short sentences and monosyllables, as though the gayety of their talk was no longer sufficient to conceal their thoughts, which, throwing off subterfuge, spoke in the silences. At last Moira shivered slightly and rose.

      "Come," she said gently, "we must be going," and led the way toward the exit from the Gardens on the Boulevard St. Michel. Horton followed silently – heavily, for the end of his perfect day was drawing near and with it the duty which was to bring disillusionment and distress to Moira and ostracism and hell to him.

      But when they reached the studio Moira set with alacrity at putting things to rights and preparing the evening meal.

      "We shall be having cold goose and a bit of salad, you extravagant person," she said. "I feel as though I had no right to be eating again for a week."

      And so they dined upon the remains of their feast, but warmed by the cheerful blaze, both conscious of the imminent hour of seclusion and affinity. Moira had little to say and in the silences Jim caught her gaze upon him once or twice as though in inquiry or incomprehension, and wondered whether in their long day together, he had said or done anything which might have led her to suspect the truth. But he had been cautious, following her leads in conversation, and playing his discreditable role with rather creditable skill. The end was near. He would see Harry to-night at Javet's and to-morrow he would tell her, but it was like the thought of death to him – after to-day – and he failed to hide from her the traces of his misery.

      "I wish that you would tell me what worries you," she said gently, after a long silence.

      He started forward in his chair by the fire. "Er – nothing," he stammered, "there's nothing."

      "Yes, СКАЧАТЬ