Part 17 (1/2)

”Then love is only complete understanding?”

”Always thought it might be some trifle like that,” murmured the drowsy one. ”But don't ask me. How should I know? That is,” rousing hastily, ”I do know, of course. And it is. There's a squirrel eating your hat.”

Desire changed the position of the hat. But the subject remained and she resumed it dreamily.

”Then in order that it might be quite complete, the understanding would have to be mutual. If only one loved, there would always be a lack.”

”Not a doubt of it!” said Spence firmly.

”Well, then--don't you see?”

”See? See what? That squirrel's eating your hat again.”

”Go away!” said Desire to the squirrel. And, when it had gone, ”Don't you see?” she repeatedly gravely.

The professor always loved her gravity. And he had not seen. He was, in fact, almost asleep. ”You tell me,” he said, rus.h.i.+ng upon destruction.

Then Desire said what she had made up her mind to say. He never knew exactly what it was because before she actually said the word ”Mary,”

he was too sleepy, and afterwards he was too dazed.

Mary! The word went through him like an electric shock. It tingled to his criminal toes. It whirled through his cringing brain like a pinwheel suddenly lighted. It exploded like a bomb in the recesses of his false content.

Desire was talking about Mary! Talking about her in that frank and unembarra.s.sed way which he had always admired. But good heavens! didn't she realize that Mary was dead and buried? No. She evidently did not.

Far from it. When he was able to listen intelligently once more, Desire was saying:

”... and, to a man like you, philosophy should be such a help. I feel you will be far, far less unhappy if you do not shut yourself up with your memories. Do you suppose I have not noticed how nervous and worn out you have been since the night we came away? Why have you tried to hide it?”

”I haven't--”

”Yes you have. Please, please don't quibble. And hidden things are so dangerous. It isn't as if I would not understand. You ought to give me credit for a little knowledge of human nature. I knew perfectly well that when you married me--you would think of Mary. You could hardly help it.”

The professor sat up. He was not at all sleepy now. Mary had ”murdered sleep.” But he was still dazed.

”Wait a moment.” He raised a restraining hand. ”Let me get this right.

You say you have noticed a certain lack of energy in my manner of late?”

”Anyone must have noticed it.”

”But I explained it, didn't I?”

”Yes?” The slight smile on Desire's lips was sufficient comment on the explanation. The professor began to feel injured.

”Then I gather, further, that you do not accept the explanation?”

”Don't be cross! How could I? I have eyes. And my point is simply that there is no need for any concealment between us. You promised that we should be friends. Friends help friends when they are in trouble.”

The professor rumpled his hair The pinwheel in his brain was slowing down. Already the marvelous something which accepts and adjusts the unexpected was hard at work restoring order. Mary was not dead. He had to reckon with Mary. Very well, let Mary look to her-self. Let her beware how she hara.s.sed a desperate man! Let her--but he was not pushed to extremes yet.

”I thought,” he said slowly, ”that we had tacitly agreed not to reopen this subject.”