Part 42 (2/2)

For a long time there was silence,--long enough with the man for the mood to pa.s.s, the mood of terror, and in reaction its ant.i.thesis, reckless abandon, to come in its stead. For come it did, as was inevitable; and heralding its approach sounded a laugh,--a sudden mirthless, sarcastic laugh.

”So this is the end of my day,” he said. He laughed again. ”I might have known it was too good to last. What a fool I was to imagine that just because one thing had come my way everything else was going to follow suit. What a poor, blithering fool!”

”Steve!” No lethargy in the girl's figure now, in the face of a sudden turned toward him appealingly. ”Don't take it that way or say such things. Nothing has changed in the least. I'm still your friend, as I've always been; so is Harry Randall--and the rest. You're still a successful writer; you've proved it to-day, and you'll prove it further with the new book you're working on now. I repeat, nothing has altered in the least.

Don't talk that way. It hurts me.”

In his chair, erect now, Armstrong merely smiled. But his color was higher than normal and the blue eyes were unnaturally bright.

”No, nothing has changed, I suppose,” he said evenly. ”You're right there. I've simply been in a trance--that's all--and I've inadvertently come to. I seem to have the habit of doing that.” He smiled again, hopelessly cruel in his egotism. ”Of course I have friends.h.i.+p, oceans of it, yours particularly, as I've had all the time. And success; it monopolizes the sky, fairly blots out the stars, and obscures the sun like an eclipse. There's no end to the success I have. It's infinite.

And still further, incentive: to be and to do and to fight.” The smile vanished. He could not mock in the face of that thought even yet.

”Incentive! What a travesty. Elice, you've killed the last trace of incentive I had just now.”

”Steve!” The girl's hands lifted imperiously. ”Stop. Have you no pity?”

She shook the swift-gathering flood from her eyes rebelliously and faced him fair. ”You'll be very sorry you said such things after you've had time to think,” she went on. ”Don't add regret to the rest to-night.

Please don't.”

”Sorry, perhaps,” echoed the man, ”and regret--possibly. Anyway, what does it matter? It's true.”

”True--no,” swiftly. ”I can't believe it. I won't. Don't say that. In pity, don't.”

”But, I repeat, it is true,” doggedly. ”I at least can't help that.

Elice, don't cry so!” Of a sudden he was on his feet bending over her.

”Please don't. I love you!”

”Don't touch me! I can't stand it!” The girl had drawn away swiftly, the repression of years for an instant broken. ”You dare to tell me that--now! Love--” She cut herself short with an effort of will and, rising hurriedly, walked the length of the room to the window. For more than a minute, while Armstrong stood staring after her dumbly, she remained so; her face pressed against the cold pane, looking out upon the white earth. Deliberately, normally, she turned. Seemingly without an effort, so naturally that even Armstrong was deceived, she smiled.

”Pardon me,” she said evenly. ”I'm not often hysterical.” She was returning slowly. ”I'll be glad when vacation comes. I think I'm--tired.”

She seated herself and motioned the other back into his place,--a motion that was a command. ”Now, tell me, please, that you didn't mean what you said a moment ago when we were both irresponsible. It will make us both sleep better.”

The smile had left Armstrong's face now, and in its place was the pallor of reaction. But he was quiet also.

”I wish I could,” he said steadily, ”but I can't. It'll be exactly as it was before.”

The girl was still smiling,--that same normal, apparently effortless, smile.

”Nonsense!” she refuted, in tones deliberately matter-of-fact. ”There's all the difference in the world. Before you had no audience. And now--the entire country will listen now.”

”It doesn't matter,” dully. ”It's always been you that counted really.

Success was an incident, but you were the real incentive.”

”I?” She laughed gently. ”On the contrary it was I who tried to lead you away from your work, to make you practical. Don't you remember the Graham offer?”

”Yes,” hurriedly. ”I've thought of it a thousand times. It was the big mistake of my life when I refused his proposal. If I'd accepted then--”

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