Part 37 (1/2)
The car was giving trouble. For a few moments its eccentricities required its driver's undivided attention. Even when it was running smoothly again, he appeared preoccupied. But Desire was seldom in a hurry. She waited until he was quite ready.
”You learned something--about love?” asked John gruffly.
”Yes. Have you a sore throat? Your voice sounds all dusty. I used to think,” she went on dreamily, ”that love was something that came from outside. That it depended on things. But it doesn't depend on anything and it's not outside at all.”
”And you found this out, today?”
”Yes. I saw it, in Miss Martin. It was quite plain. What idiots we were to pity her!”
”Did we pity her?”
The question was mechanical. John was not thinking of Miss Martin. He was thinking of the faint rose upon Desire's half-turned cheek. Desire blus.h.i.+ng!
”Of course we did. And we had no right. And there is no need.”
”Don't let's do it, then,” said John. Out of the corner of his eye he saw, with a quickening of his pulse, how stirred she was. And his wonder mounted. That Desire, of the cool, grey eyes and unwarmed smile, should speak of love at all was sufficiently amazing, but that she should speak of it with tinted cheek was a miracle.
Yet this, he quickly remembered, was something which he had himself foreseen. He had never really accepted Spence's theory that early disillusion had seriously poisoned the lifesprings natural to her age.
Her awakening had been certain. He had warned Spence that she would wake! He felt all the exultation of a prophet who sees his prophecy fulfilled. But common sense urged caution. To frighten her now might be fatal. He tried to bring his mind back to Miss Martin.
”At least,” he said, ”our intentions were admirable. We were trying to help her.”
”We were being very impertinent,” affirmed Desire. ”Benis told me so this morning.”
”Benis told you?” in surprise.
”Well, he didn't exactly tell me. But I am sure he wanted to.”
This was too subtle for the doctor. There were times when he frankly admitted his inability to bridge Desire's conversational chasms. He was often puzzled by the things she did not say.
”What was Benis thinking of,” he said irritably, ”to let you come out in that bread cart?”
Desire laughed. ”I hope he was thinking of the Significance of the Totem. But I'm almost sure he wasn't.”
”Does he ever think of anything but that blessed book of his?”
”I'm afraid he does--occasionally.”
”You mean,” with sharpened interest, ”that he isn't quite as keen on it as he used to be?”
”I mean that he doesn't like me to work too hard.”
”Oh, I see. Perhaps he does not wish you to work too hard for me, either?”
Desire folded her hands upon her bag and looked primly into s.p.a.ce.
”He is a very considerate employer,” she remarked mildly. ”Take care--you nearly hit that hen!”
”Oh, d--bother the hen!”