Part 33 (1/2)

”Some parliament,” I said to myself. ”Perhaps. If I had Jean to goad me on I might do--anything.”

Spoof sc.r.a.ped a corner clear on the window pane, and said some lines about ”Snow cold--in snow.” It was something about a soldier dying in the trenches; not wounded, or fighting, but just dying in the snow. I saw Jean's wrapt attention; the glisten of her eyes; the gulp of her white throat. What power was this the man had over her? Was this all a thing of mind, or was it body, too? I had told myself that, animal for animal, Jean would prefer me. As I looked at Spoof's strong figure, well knit, well clad, I wondered.

In some way we put in the hour. I did not press the subject, the question, the suspicion which was turmoiling my mind. It was Jean's move. I waited for her.

CHAPTER XXII.

Spoof set his little table with a linen cloth and napkins and amazingly good dishes. The meal was to consist of stewed rabbit, with potatoes and carrots; bread and cheese and tea. Jean sprang up to cut the bread and make the tea. There was something poignantly domestic in their two figures, shoulder to shoulder--although his shoulder came high over hers--studying the inside of the teapot as though they were crystal gazing (and perhaps they were) while they disputed as to the exact amount of tea for three. It was a new problem for Spoof, but a common one for Jean, and she had her way.

It was not until we had finished lunch, and Spoof had rolled me a cigarette, and the dishes were cleared away and some sort of tapestry cover subst.i.tuted on the table, that Jean saw fit to refer to her behavior.

”I promised you that if you didn't quizz I would tell you all about it, Frank,” she said, suddenly. ”You have been a good boy, and I will keep my word.”

”By Jove, I haven't fed the bullocks,” Spoof exclaimed. ”That's what comes of having company. I really should have a man. If the Governor saw me leave my guests to feed a pair of ungracious old bulls he would be permanently humiliated. You won't mind, will you?”

We wouldn't, and in a moment Spoof was plowing toward his stables.

”You think I'm a wild woman, and pretty much of a fool,” said Jean.

”Come, this bench is a sad invention. Let's sit on the floor.”

She went back to her station in the corner, and made me sit down beside her. ”There, that's better,” she said. ”You think I'm a wild woman, and pretty much of a fool. Let's pa.s.s the first count. On the second we agree. Now I'll give you the whole story without frills.

”You know, of course, why I cancelled our engagement. We've covered that ground; no use plowing it again. I believed I loved Spoof; I hoped he loved me. But since Jack's wedding he had avoided us. I have been in a torture of uncertainty. After our talk yesterday I couldn't stand it any longer.

”I woke up this morning, about five o'clock, thinking of him, and as I thought a vague, wild plan which had been haunting me took form. If Mohammed wouldn't come to the mountain, the mountain would go to Mohammed. You see, I have reversed the figure, as is right in this case.

It was a wild idea, but once I got it clearly in my head there was nothing to do but go through with it. I knew I would be found out; I knew all that you and Jack and Marjorie would think, even if you didn't say it. But there comes a time when none of these things matter--do you understand? . . .

”So I dressed as quietly as I could, and slipped out. It wasn't snowing then; the stars were bright and numberless; I got my bearings and struck out. As I pa.s.sed your shanty I stopped at your window. All was dark and still. 'Dear old boy,' I whispered against your window pane, 'I wish things were different--but they're not.'”

She had laced her fingers again about her knees, but now she dropped the hand next to me, and it fell on mine. There was nothing surrept.i.tious about it; it was deliberate, designed, aggressive.

”I had covered most of the distance before it began to snow. Then I was in danger for a while, but I made it all right. Unfortunately, Spoof is not an early riser. He was surprised to see me.”

She stopped, and for a long while gazed into s.p.a.ce, as though studying what she would say next.

”Well, I proposed to him. He refused me,” she said quietly.

”Refused you? . . . Do you mean that's the whole story?”

”That's the substance; I told you I would leave out the frills. You can decorate it to your liking. One of the secrets of art is to not over-state yourself--leave something to the imagination. The more intelligent the audience, the more may be left to the imagination. You are an intelligent audience, Frank.”

Through my absurd concern for, I hardly knew what, her adorable tantalization seethed in me like an electric current. And so selfish am I--and all men--that it was some minutes before I realized that Jean had received a knock-out blow; that she had humiliated herself to this man Spoof; that she had placed her womanhood at his feet, and he had spurned it. Just what it was for me to lose Jean, just that same must it be for Jean to lose Spoof.

”And he refused you--refused you,” I repeated, when this thought had settled clearly in my mind. ”Jean, I don't see how--any man--could do that.”

”He was kind--considerate,” she said, quietly. ”Said he was sorry; appreciated the compliment; any man might be flattered, he said, but it was quite impossible. So I am left dangling in s.p.a.ce.”

”Well, what next?” I asked, after a long silence in which, consciously or unconsciously, she was drawing her finger tips slowly up and down between the backs of mine. ”What next?”