A Woman's Will Part 54

"Is there a difference?" he lit his cigarette.

"Yes, indeed."

He crossed his arms upon the table, and smiled at her through his own personal quota of smoke.

"Tell me the difference. Why are we horrid?"

"Because you so often are. Men never understand."

"_Au contraire_," he said quietly, "men always understand. It is the woman who will not believe it, and it is cruel to say her the truth. A woman is always _genee_, she will sob in a man's arms and still declare that 'No.' Why is it necessary for her to be so? That I cannot understand."

Rosina caught a quick little breath; she had not been prepared for such a turn of conversation. Von Ibn went on with a degree of nonchalance that masked his close observance admirably.

"When a man loves a woman, he knows certainly if she loves him or not.

It is there every minute in her eyes and on her lips; and yet he must ask her, and she must pretend a surprise. Why? We are altogether human.

Then why must women be different? I am most sorry for a poor woman; she cannot be kissed or caressed or loved without the pretence that she dislikes it. It must be very difficult."

She felt her face getting warm.

"You do not like what I have say?" he asked.

"No."

"Because it is true?"

"It isn't true."

"An American would not say that to you?"

"Certainly not."

"Do you like better the American way of covering up all truth?"

"It is politer, I think."

He looked at her for a moment.

"I have been horrible, _n'est-ce pas_?" he asked.

She felt very uncomfortable indeed.

"Do let us go now," she said in a low tone.

He struck his water-gla.s.s with a knife, and their waitress, who was near by, looked around.

"_'Zahlen!_" he called to her. She nodded. He went for his coat and hat, and when he returned Rosina was fastening the frogs on her jacket.

"I would have put it on if you had waited," he said in a tone of remonstrance.

"I am used to getting into it," she a.s.sured him.

He looked attentively at her and perceived more than she thought. Then the waitress came up and recited all that they had eaten in a sing-song tone, and he pushed some money towards her with a gesture that disposed of the question as to making change.

"We will go out now," he said, turning towards the door, and the next minute they were in the cool, fresh night air. He put his hand upon her arm, and bent his head a little.

"Do not be vexed with me," he said softly; "even a little vexing of you makes me great pain."

Then he pressed her arm closely.

"It is not long that we have now to talk. I beg you talk to me; do not be so sad."

"I'm not sad."

"Then talk."

She gathered up her energy with a mighty effort.

"What shall we talk about?"

"Anything. Have you a letter to-day?"

"Yes."

"From who? From Jack?"

"No, from the Marquis de W----."

His fingers came together over her arm in a vice-like grip.

"I have never heard of him," he cried; "where have you know him?"

"In Paris. And then I met him on the train--"

Von Ibn's eyes grew large with fright.

"But you must not meet men on trains," he said; "that is not at all proper for you."

"He took charge of me from Paris to Lucerne," she said soothingly; "he is really very delightful--"

"I did not see him at Lucerne," he interrupted.

"No, he was gone when you came."

"How old is he?"

"He is seventy."

His heat subsided suddenly, and there was a pause during which she felt circulation returning slowly to her arm.