Part 37 (1/2)

The Masons' talk at dinner was disconcerting. They took it for granted that she and Knight were an adoring newly married couple, like themselves. Annesley was thankful to escape, and to go to bed in her little panelled room.

”To-morrow, when I'm rested, things will be easier,” she told herself.

But to-morrow came and she was not rested; for again she had not slept.

In Chicago there were hours to wait before train time. The Masons proposed taking a motor-car to see the sights, and lunching together at a famous Chinese restaurant.

At a sign from her, Knight consented. It was better to be with the Masons than with him alone. After luncheon, however, Knight drew her aside.

”What about Los Angeles?” he inquired. ”Have you decided?”

Annesley felt incapable of deciding anything, and her unhappy face betrayed her state of mind.

”If you'd rather think it over longer,” he said, ”I can buy your ticket at Albuquerque.”

”Very well,” Annesley replied. She did not remember where Albuquerque was, though Knight had pointed it out on the map; and she did not care to remember. All she wanted was not to decide then.

Knight turned away without speaking. But there was a look almost of hope in his eyes. Things could not be what they had been; yet they were better than they might be.

At Kansas City the Masons bade the Nelson Smiths good-bye. And from that moment the Nelson Smiths ceased to exist. There were no initials on their luggage.

The man kept to his own stateroom. Annesley, alone next door, had plenty of books to read, parting gifts from the Waldos; but the most engrossing novel ever written could not have held her attention. The landscape changed kaleidoscopically. She wondered when they would arrive at Albuquerque, wondered, yet did not want to know.

”Would you rather go to the dining car alone, or have me take you?”

Knight came to ask.

”It's better to go together, or people may think it strange,” she said.

Even as she spoke she wondered at herself. The Masons having gone, the other travellers--strangers whom they would not meet again--were not of much importance. Yet she let her words pa.s.s. And at dinner that evening she forced herself to ask, ”Do we get to Albuquerque to-night?”

”Not till to-morrow forenoon,” Knight informed her casually. He feared for a moment that she might say she could not wait so long before making up her mind; but she only looked startled, opened her lips as if to speak, and closed them again.

Next day there were no more apple orchards and flat or rolling meadow lands. The train had brought them into another world, a world unlike anything that Annesley had seen before. At the stations were flat-faced, half-breed Indians and Mexicans; some poorly clad, others gaily dressed, with big straw hats painted with flowers, and green leggings laced with faded gold. In the distance were hills and mountains, and the train ran through stretches of red desert sprinkled with rough gra.s.s, or cleft with river-beds, where golden sands played over by winds were ruffled into little waves.

Toward noon Knight showed himself at the open door of the stateroom.

”We'll be in Albuquerque before long now,” he announced. ”That's where I change, you know, for Texas. The train stops for a while, and I can get your ticket for Los Angeles. Those letters of introduction I told you about are ready. I've left a blank for your name. I suppose you've made up your mind what you want to do?”

Some people with handbags pushed past, and Knight had to step into the room to avoid them. The moment, long delayed, was upon her!

Annesley remembered how she had put off deciding whether or not to sail for America with Knight. Now a still more formidable decision was before her and had to be faced. She glanced up at the tall, standing figure.

Knight was not looking at her. His eyes were on the desert landscape flying past the windows.

”What I _want_ to do!” she echoed. ”There's nothing in this world that I want to do.”

”Then”--and Knight did not take his eyes from the window--”why not drift?”