Part 6 (1/2)
”You are twenty-five, and yet you're only a child.”
”What does that signify? That I am too young to manage my own affairs?
That I must set my clock as others order? Good soul!” putting her arms around the older woman. ”Don't worry about Elsa Chetwood. Her life is her own, but she will never misuse it.”
”Oh, if you were only married and settled down!”
”You mean, if I were happily married and settled down. There you have it. I'm in search of happiness. That's the Valley of Diamonds. When I find that, Martha, you may fold your hands in peace.”
”Grant it may be soon! I hate the East!
”And I have just begun to love it.”
V
BACK TO LIFE
The two days between Prome and Rangoon were distinctly memorable for the subtle changes wrought in the man and woman. Those graces of mind and manner which had once been the man's, began to find expression.
Physically, his voice became soft and mellow; his hands became full of emphasis; his body grew less and less clumsy, more and more leonine.
It has taken centuries and centuries to make the white man what he is to-day; yet, a single year of misfortune may throw him back into the primordial. For it is far easier to retrograde than to go forward, easier to let the world go by than to march along with it. Had he been less interested in Elsa and more concerned about his rehabilitation, self-a.n.a.lysis would have astonished Warrington. The blunt speech, the irritability in argument, the stupid pauses, the painful study of cunning phrases, the suspicion and reticence that figuratively encrust the hearts of shy and lonely men, these vanished under her warm if careless glances. For the first time in ten years a woman of the right sort was showing interest in him. True, there had been other women, but these had served only to make him retreat farther into his sh.e.l.l.
If the crust of barbarism is thick, that of civilization is thin enough. As Warrington went forward, Elsa stopped, and gradually went back, not far, but far enough to cause her to throw down the bars of reserve, to cease to guard her impulses against the invasion of interest and fascination. She faced the truth squarely, without palter. The man fascinated her. He was like a portrait with following eyes. She spoke familiarly of her affairs (always omitting Arthur); she talked of her travels, of the famous people she had met, of the wonderful pageants she had witnessed. And she secretly laughed at reproachful conscience that urged her to recall one of those laws Elsa herself had written down to follow: that which forbade a young unmarried woman to seek the companions.h.i.+p of a man about whom she knew nothing. It was not her fault that, with the exception of Martha who didn't count, they two were the only pa.s.sengers. This condition of affairs was directly chargeable to fate; and before the boat reached Rangoon, Elsa was quite willing to let fate s.h.i.+ft and set the scenes how it would. The first step toward reversion is the casting aside of one's responsibilities. Elsa s.h.i.+fted her cares to the shoulders of fate. So long as the man behaved himself, so long as he treated her with respect, real or feigned, nothing else mattered.
The phase that escaped her entirely was this, that had he not progressed, she would have retained her old poise, the old poise of which she was never again to be mistress. It is the old tale: sympathy to lift up another first steps down. And never had her sympathy gone out so quickly to any mortal. Elsa had a horror of loneliness, and this man seemed to be the living presentment of the word. What struggles, and how simply he recounted them! What things he had seen, what adventures had befallen him, what romance and mystery! She wondered if there had been a woman in his life and if she had been the cause of his downfall. Every day of the past ten years lay open for her to admire or condemn, but beyond these ten years there was a Chinese Wall, over which she might not look. Only once had she provoked the silent negative nod of his head. He was strong. Not the smallest corner of the veil was she permitted to turn aside. She walked hither and thither along the scarps and bastions of the barrier, but never found the breach.
”Will you come and dine with me to-night?” she asked, as they left the boat.
”No, Miss Innocence.”
”That's silly. There isn't a soul I know here.”
”But,” gravely he replied, ”there are many here who know me.”
”Which infers that my invitation is unwise?”
”Absolutely unwise.”
”Tea?”
”Frankly, I ought not to be seen with you.”
”Why? Unless, indeed, you have not told me the truth.”
”I have told you the truth.”
”Then where's the harm?”
”For myself, none. On the boat it did not matter so much. It was a situation which neither of us could foresee nor prevent. I have told you that people here look askance at me because they know nothing about me, save that I came from the States. And they are wise. I should be a cad if I accepted your invitation to dinner.”