Part 17 (1/2)
She leaned back in her chair and smiled at him mischievously.
”Oh, Olga is quite capable of taking care of herself. It isn't Olga I'm thinking about at all. It's you, my poor friend. Did you know that Olga has the reputation of being quite the most dangerous woman in Europe?”
”All women are dangerous. Fortunately I'm not the kind of man such women find interesting.”
”I'm not sure that I know just _what_ kind of a man you are, Mr.
Markham. In your studio I inclined to the opinion that you had most of the characteristics of an amiable gorilla; on Thimble Island you seemed like _Diogenes_--without the tub; to-night you're _Lothario, Bluebeard, and Lancelot_ all in one.”
”I'm afraid you flatter me. First impressions are usually correct, I think. I'm an amiable gorilla. Perhaps by the time you visit my studio again, I may have reached the next link in the chain to the human.” He laughed and then quickly turned the conversation to a topic less personal. ”You _will_ visit my studio next winter, won't you?”
”Of course. You're to do my portrait, you know? But I was hoping that you might stay on and paint it here at 'Wake-Robin'!”
He looked off toward Thimble Island a moment before replying.
”I'm sorry I can't. I have some engagements in New York and my pa.s.sage is booked for Europe early in the month. I leave Thimble Island almost at once.”
”Oh, that's unkind of you. Don't you find it sufficiently attractive here?”
”Yes, I do. Unfortunately, I can't consult my own wishes in the matter.”
She had been examining him narrowly.
”You don't want to stay, Mr. Markham,” she announced, decisively.
He looked her in the eyes, but made no reply.
”We're not your sort, I know. But I thought that with Olga here--”
”It has been very pleasant. I am glad to have had the privilege--”
”Don't, Mr. Markham. The truth is,” she went on, ”that you came here because you thought you ought to be polite. You go because you think you have been quite polite enough. Isn't that true?”
”Figuratively, yes,” he replied frankly. ”I'm not gregarious by instinct. I can't help it. I suppose I'm just unsociable, that's all.”
”Oh, well, I'm sorry,” she said, rising. ”If you _won't_ stay--shall I see you again?”
”I think not. I'm leaving early.”
”Oh,” with a stamp of her foot. ”I have no patience with you!”
”You see,” he shrugged, ”I don't wear well.”
They reached the hall and she gave him her fingers.
”I wish you all the happiness in the world,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him quickly.
”I'm always happy. You mean--”
”Your engagement to Mr. Armistead.”
Her lips curved demurely.