Part 5 (1/2)

They were following along the side of a steep ridge overlooking the river, when Claire suddenly stopped him and gave a cry of delight. Near them a small, furry animal, caught in a tangled ma.s.s of wirelike creepers, was struggling to free itself. He killed the creature with his stone-edged tool, and after barbecuing it on the end of a stick, they ate it ravenously. Each of them would have disliked the whole scene at any other time, but now neither thought anything of it until after they were satisfied.

Leaning back against a rock, Lawrence stroked his chin, rapidly becoming invisible under a heavy beard. ”I hadn't known I was so hungry for real food,” he laughed.

Brown as a gipsy, her hair filled with tiny green leaves, Claire looked at him, her eyes s.h.i.+ning with the warm light of satisfied hunger. ”We ate like two beasts,” she remarked languidly, and laughed. ”It was simply disgraceful.”

”I know,” he began to muse, ”it doesn't take long for the most polished man--not that I ever was that--to become a savage.”

”You look the part,” she laughed. ”I suppose I do, too. My hair is matted hopelessly; the curliness makes it worse. My face, too, is rapidly hardening under this sun. If only I had a few more clothes--”

She stopped and looked at him. ”I feel the need of them,” she finished lamely.

Claire had worn his coat continuously from the first night, and his unders.h.i.+rt was tearing from contact with bush and tree. He grinned contentedly, however.

”If you approach nakedness as rapidly as I,” he chuckled, ”I fear we both will have to avoid civilization. Undisguised humanity isn't tolerated there.”

She flushed warmly, then laughed.

”I wonder why people are so afraid of being seen,” Lawrence went on. ”Of course, there's the warmth and natural protection of clothing, but one would feel so much freer without the enc.u.mbrance of s.h.i.+rt-stud and feathered plume.”

”We need them to complete a personality,” said Claire. ”I know few people who would inspire respect in their elemental state. Stripped of advertising silk and diamond, they wouldn't be so suggestive of wealth.”

”But why be so eager to impress others with your power?”

She turned toward him with a faint smile. ”If you didn't ask that as mere conversation, I would think you childish. You know very well why.

It probably goes back to the days when the possession of a fish-hook, more or less, meant surer life. It has come to mean, now, that the decoration of an extra feather or white flannel trousers means advantageous position, the place of more power, more pleasure; in short, greater fulness of living.”

”But we are living fully, goodness knows,” he interrupted. ”This last week we have had to exert our wits and bodies in more ways than we ever did before in all our lives. True, I do miss my modeling somewhat.” He spoke the last with a soft mellowness in his voice and a wistfulness that made her look at him quickly.

”Modeling?” she asked.

He nodded slowly.

”What sort of modeling?” she insisted.

”Oh, probably poor, for the most part. I did some work that was beginning to make its way, though.”

”You mean sculpture?”

He nodded again.

She looked at him earnestly. Here was a new revelation. She had wondered at this man's apparent keen sense of form, and his imaginative power when he spoke of color or mentioned line, and she had been sure from his occasional word that he was a wide student of literature.

”What did you do at home?” she asked abruptly.

”Oh, played with living,” he said indifferently.

She felt irritated that he would not tell her more of his life, yet she remembered that she had practically refused to discuss her own with him.

”See here, Lawrence,” she said suddenly, ”we aren't quite fair with each other, are we?”

”Why not?” he answered quietly. ”I carry you toward your old life, you guide me toward mine. It's a fair business, with equal investment. I'm not complaining.”