Athalie Part 53

"They don't annoy _me_! No girl ever was annoyed by overattention from her suitors--except Penelope--and _I_ don't believe she had such a horrid time of it either, until her husband came home and shot up the whole _the dansant_."

He was still standing beside her couch without offering to seat himself; and she let him remain standing a few minutes longer before she condescended to move aside on her pillows and nod a tardy invitation.

"Has it been an interesting day, Clive?"

"Rather."

"And you have really gone back into business again?"

"Yes."

"And will the real estate market rally at the news of your august reappearance?" she inquired mischievously.

"I haven't a doubt of it," he said with gravity.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'There is your extra,' she said pleasantly."]

"Wonderful, Clive! And I think I'd better get in on the ground floor before values go sky-rocketing. Do you want a commission from me?"

"Of course."

"Very well. Buy me the old Hotel Greensleeve."

He smiled; but she said with pretty seriousness: "I really have been thinking about it. Do you suppose it could be bought reasonably? It's really a pretty place. And there's a hundred acres--or there was.... I would like to have a modest house somewhere in the country."

"Are you in earnest, Athalie?"

"Really I am.... Couldn't that old house be fixed over inexpensively?

You know it's nearly two hundred years old, and the lines are good if the gingerbread verandas and modern bay windows are done away with."

He nodded; and she went on with shy enthusiasm: "I don't really know anything about gardens, except I know that I should adore them.... I thought of a garden--just a simple one.... And some cows and chickens.

And one nice old horse.... It is really very pretty there in spring and summer. And the bay is so blue, and the salt meadows are so sweet.... And the cemetery is near.... I should not wish to alter mother's room very much.... I'd turn the bar into a sun parlour....

But I'd keep the stove ... where you and I sat that evening and ate peach turnovers.... About how much do you suppose the place could be bought for?"

"I haven't the least idea, Athalie. But I'll see what can be done to-morrow.... It ought to be a good purchase. You can scarcely go wrong on Long Island property if you buy it right."

"Will you see about it, Clive?"

"Of course I will, you dear girl!" he said, dropping his hand over hers where it lay between them.

She smiled up at him. Then, distrait, turned her blue eyes toward the window, and remained gazing out at the late afternoon sky where a few white clouds were sailing.

"'Clouds and s.h.i.+ps on sky, and sea,'" she murmured to herself....

"'And G.o.d always at the helm.' Why do men worry? All sail into the same port at last."

He bent over her: "What are you murmuring all to yourself down there?"

he asked, smilingly.

"Nothing much,--I'm just watching the driftsam and flotsam borne on the currents flowing through my mind--flowing through it and out again--away, somewhere--back to the source of thought, perhaps."

He was still bending above her, and she looked up dreamily into his eyes.

"Do you think I shall ever have my garden?" she asked.

"All things good must come to you, Athalie."

She laughed, looking up into his eyes: "You meant that, didn't you?

'All things good'--yes--and other things, too.... They come to all I suppose.... Tell me, do you think my profession disreputable?"

"You have made it otherwise, haven't you?"

"I don't know. I'm eternally tempted. My intelligence bothers me. And where to draw the line between what I really see and what I divine by deduction--or by intuition--I scarcely know sometimes.... I try to be honest.... When you came in just now, were they calling an extra?"

"Yes."

"Did you hear what they were calling?"

"Something about the _Empress of Borneo_ being reported safe."

She nodded. Then: "That is the hopeless part of it. I can sometimes help others; never myself.... I suppose you have no idea how many, many hours I have spent looking for you.... I never could find you. I have never found you in my crystal, or in my clearer vision, or in my dreams; ... never heard your voice, never had news of you except by common report in everyday life.... Why is it, I wonder?"

His expression was inscrutable. She said, her eyes still lingering on his: "You know it makes me indignant to see so much that neither concerns nor interests me--so much that pa.s.ses--in this!--" laying one hand on the crystal beside the couch ... "and never, never in the dull monotony of the drifting mult.i.tude to catch a glimpse of you.... I wonder, were I lost somewhere in the world, if you could find me, Clive?"

"I'd die, trying," he said unsmilingly.

"Oh! How romantic! I wasn't fis.h.i.+ng for a pretty speech, dear. I meant, could you find me in the crystal. Look into it, Clive."

He turned and went over to the clear, transparent sphere, and she, resting her chin on both arms, lay gazing into it, too.

After a silence he shook his head: "I see nothing, Athalie."

"Can you not see that great yellow river, Clive? And the snow peaks on the horizon?... Palms, tall reeds, endless forests--everything so still--except birds flying--and a broad river rolling between forests.... And a mud-bar, swarming with crocodiles.... And a dead tree stranded there, on which large birds are sitting.... There is a big cat-shaped animal on the bank; but the forest is dark and sunless,--too dusky to see into.... I think the animal is a jaguar....

He's drinking now.... Yes, he's a jaguar--a heavy, squarely built, spotted creature with a broad, blunt head.... He's been eating a pheasant; there are feathers everywhere--bright feathers, brilliant as jewels.... Hark! You didn't hear that, did you, Clive? Somebody has shot the jaguar. They've shot him again. He's whirling 'round and 'round--and now he's down, biting at sticks and leaves.... There goes another shot. The jaguar lies very still. His jaws are partly open. He has big, yellow cat-teeth.... I can't seem to see who shot him....

There are some black men coming. One has a small American flag furled around the shaft of his spear. He's waving it over the dead jaguar.

They're all dancing now.... But I can't see the man who shot him."

"I shot him," said Clive.

"I thought so." She turned and dropped back among her pillows.

"You see," she said, listlessly, "I can never seem to find you, Clive.

Sometimes I suspect your presence. But I am never certain.... Why is it that a girl can't find the man she cares for most in the whole world?"

"Do you care for me as much as that?"

"Why, yes," she said, a trifle surprised.

"And do you think I return your--regard--in measure?"