Part 106 (2/2)

From the beginning he told the tale, the I--I--I's flas.h.i.+ng through the records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie listened and nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did not move her a hair's-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude, ”And that gave me some notion of handling colour,” or light, or whatever it might be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her breathless across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his life before.

And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great desire to pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, ”I understand. Go on,”--to pick her up and carry her away with him, because she was Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his right, and a woman to be desired above all women.

Then he checked himself abruptly. ”And so I took all I wanted,” he said, ”and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.”

Maisie's tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of patient toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken though dealers laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even sarcastic, and girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a few bright spots, in pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but it wound up with the oft repeated wail, ”And so you see, d.i.c.k, I had no success, though I worked so hard.”

Then pity filled d.i.c.k. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not hit the breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that had happened yesterday.

”Never mind,” he said. ”I'll tell you something, if you'll believe it.”

The words were shaping themselves of their own accord. ”The whole thing, lock, stock, and barrel, isn't worth one big yellow sea-poppy below Fort Keeling.”

Maisie flushed a little. ”It's all very well for you to talk, but you've had the success and I haven't.”

”Let me talk, then. I know you'll understand. Maisie, dear, it sounds a bit absurd, but those ten years never existed, and I've come back again.

It really is just the same. Can't you see? You're alone now and I'm alone. What's the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.”

Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench.

”I understand,” she said slowly. ”But I've got my work to do, and I must do it.”

”Do it with me, then, dear. I won't interrupt.”

”No, I couldn't. It's my work,--mine,--mine,--mine! I've been alone all my life in myself, and I'm not going to belong to anybody except myself.

I remember things as well as you do, but that doesn't count. We were babies then, and we didn't know what was before us. d.i.c.k, don't be selfish. I think I see my way to a little success next year. Don't take it away from me.”

”I beg your pardon, darling. It's my fault for speaking stupidly. I can't expect you to throw up all your life just because I'm back. I'll go to my own place and wait a little.”

”But, d.i.c.k, I don't want you to--go--out of--my life, now you've just come back.”

”I'm at your orders; forgive me.” d.i.c.k devoured the troubled little face with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not conceive that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since he loved her.

”It's wrong of me,” said Maisie, more slowly than before; ”it's wrong and selfish; but, oh, I've been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. Now I've seen you again,--it's absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.”

”Naturally. We belong.”

”We don't; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my work that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things.

You must.”

”I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. Then you won't care to lose sight of me altogether, and--you want me to help you in your work?”

”Yes; but remember, d.i.c.k, nothing will ever come of it. That's why I feel so selfish. Can't things stay as they are? I do want your help.”

”You shall have it. But let's consider. I must see your pics first, and overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should see what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I'll give you good advice, and you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?”

Again there was triumph in d.i.c.k's eye.

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