Part 16 (1/2)
”Why yes,” she said at length, ”I will be interested in what you undertake. You will be Dad's partner.”
Her evasion nettled him.
”Zen,” he said, ”why shouldn't we understand each other?”
”Don't we?” She had turned slightly toward him, and he could feel the laughing mockery in her eyes.
”I rather think we do,” he answered, ”only we--at least, you--won't admit it.”
”Oh!”
”Seriously, Zen, do you imagine I came over here to-day simply to make a deal with your father?”
”Wasn't that worth while?”
”Of course it was. But it wasn't the whole purpose--it wasn't half the purpose. I wanted to see Y.D., it is true, but more, very much more, I wanted to see you.”
She did not answer, and he could only guess what was the trend of her thoughts. After a silence he continued.
”You may think I am precipitate. You intimated as much to me once. I am.
I know of no reason why an honest man should go beating about the bush.
When I want something I want it, and I make a bee-line for it. If it is a contract--if it is a business matter--I go right after it, with all the energy that's in me. When I'm looking for a contract I don't start by talking about the weather. Well--this is my first experience in love, and perhaps my methods are all wrong, but it seems to me they should apply. At any rate a girl of your intelligence will understand.”
”Applying your business principles,” she interrupted, ”I suppose if you wanted a wife and there was none in sight you would advertise for her?”
He defended his position. ”I don't see why not,” he declared. ”I can't understand the general att.i.tude of levity toward matrimonial advertis.e.m.e.nts. Apparently they are too open and above-board. Matrimony should not be committed in a round-about, indirect, hit-or-miss manner.
A young man sees a girl whom he thinks he would like to marry. Does he go to her house and say, 'Miss So-and-So, I think I would like to marry you. Will you allow me to call on you so that we may get better acquainted, with that object in view?' He does not. Such honesty would be considered almost brutal. He calls on her and pretends he would like to take her to the theatre, if it is in town, or for a ride, if it is in the country. She pretends she would like to go. Both of them know what the real purpose is, and both of them pretend they don't. They start the farce by pretending a deceit which deceives n.o.body. They wait for nature to set up an attraction which shall overrule their judgment, rather than act by judgment first and leave it to nature to take care of herself.
How much better it would be to be perfectly frank--to boldly announce the purpose--to come as I now come to you and say, 'Zen, I want to marry you. My reason, my judgment, tells me that you would be an ideal mate.
I shall be proud of you, and I will try to make you proud of me. I will gratify your desires in every way that my means will permit. I pledge you my fidelity in return for yours. I--I--' Zen, will you say yes? Can you believe that there is in my simple words more sincerity than there could be in any mad ravings about love? You are young, Zen, younger than I, but you must have observed some things. One of them is that marriage, founded on mutual respect, which increases with the years, is a much safer and wiser business than marriage founded on a pa.s.sion which quickly burns itself out and leaves the victims cold, unresponsive, with nothing in common. You may not feel that you know me well enough for a decision. I will give you every opportunity to know me better--I will do nothing to deceive you--I will put on no veneer--I will let you know me as I really am. Will you say yes?”
He had left his seat and approached her; he was leaning close over her chair. While his words had suggested marriage on a purely intellectual basis he did not hesitate to bring his physical presence into the scale.
He was accustomed to having his way--he had always had it--never did he want it more than he did now.... And although he had made his plea from the intellectual angle he was sure, he was very, very sure there was more than that. This girl; whose very presence delighted him--intoxicated him--would have made him mad--
”Will you say yes?” he repeated, and his hands found hers and drew her with his great strength up from her chair. She did not resist, but when she was on her feet she avoided his embrace.
”You must not hurry me,” she whispered. ”I must have time to think. I did not realize what you were saying until--”
”Say yes now,” he urged. Transley was a man very hard to resist. She felt as though she were in the grip of a powerful machine; it was as though she were being swept along by a stream against which her feeble strength was as nothing. Zen was as nearly frightened as she had ever been in her vigorous young life. And yet there was something delightful.
It would have been so easy to surrender--it was so hard to resist.
”Say yes now,” he repeated, drawing her close at last and breathing the question into her ear. ”You shall have time to think--you shall ask your own heart, and if it does not confirm your words you will be released from your promise.”
They heard the footsteps of her father approaching, and Transley waited no longer for an answer. He turned her face to his; he pressed his lips against hers.
CHAPTER IX
Zen thought over the events of that evening until they became a blur in her memory. Her princ.i.p.al recollection was that she had been quite swept off her feet. Transley had interpreted her submission as a.s.sent, and she had not corrected him in the vital moment when they stood before her father that night in the deep shadow of the veranda.
”Y.D.,” Transley had said, ”your consent and your blessing! Zen and I are to be married as soon as she can be ready.”