Part 24 (2/2)

As he looked back, he saw that the sun had risen hot on his day of life.

It had struck down Shenton, blasted the Reverend Orme, withered Ann Leighton, and had turned plump little Natalie's body into a thin, wiry home for hope. Natalie had always demanded joy even of little things.

Did she still demand it? Where was Natalie? Lewis asked himself the question and felt a twinge of self-reproach. Life had been so full for him that he had not stopped to think how empty it might be for Natalie, his friend.

How little he had done to trace her! Only the one letter. He decided to write again, this time to Dom Francisco. If only he could talk to Natalie, what long tours it would take to tell and to hear all! A faint flush of antic.i.p.ation was rising to his cheeks when a rap on the door startled him. Before he could look around Nelton announced, ”A lady to see you, sir.”

Lewis leaped to his feet and stepped forward. Had one of the miracles he had been taught to believe in come to pa.s.s? Had prayer been answered?

The lady raised her arms and started to take off her veil. Then she turned her back to Lewis.

”Do untie it for me,” she drawled in the slow voice of Lady Violet Manerlin.

Lewis felt his face fall, and was glad she had her back to him. He undid her veil with steady, leisurely fingers.

”This is awfully good of you,” he said. ”How did you know I was alone?”

”Telephoned Nelton, and told him not to say anything.”

Vi took off her hat and jacket as well as her veil, and tossed the lot into a chair. Then she sat down in a corner of the big couch before the fire, doubled one foot under her, tapped the floor with the other, and yawned. Lewis offered her a cigarette, took one himself, and then shared a match with her.

”It's good of you to take it so calmly,” said Vi. ”Are you one of the fools that must always have an explanation? I'll give you one, if you like.”

”Don't bother,” said Lewis, smiling. ”You've been bored--horribly bored.

You looked out of the window, and saw the green things in the park, and remembered that there was only one bit in your list of humanity as green and fresh as they, and you headed straight for it.”

”Yes,” drawled Vi, ”like a cow making for the freshest tuft of gra.s.s in the pasture. Thanks; but I'm almost sorry you told me why I came. That's the disappointing thing to us women. When we think we're doing something original, somebody with a brain comes along and reduces it to first elements, and we find we've only been natural.”

Lewis straddled a chair, folded his arms on the back of it, and looked Vi over with a professional eye. She was posed for a painter, not for a sculptor, but even so he found her worth looking at. A woman can't sit on one foot, tap the floor with the other, and lean back, without showing the lines of her body.

”Mere length,” said Lewis, ”is a great handicap to a woman, but add proportion to length, and you have the essentials of beauty. Short and pretty; long and beautiful. D'you get that? A short woman may be beautiful as a table decoration, but let her stand up or lie down and, presto! she's just pretty.”

Vi reached out one long arm toward the fire, and nicked off the ash from her cigarette. She tried to hide the tremor that Lewis's words brought to her limbs and the color that his frankly admiring eyes brought to the pallor of her cheeks. She was a woman that quivered under admiration.

”Have you never--don't you ever kiss women?” she asked, looking at him with slanted eyes.

Lewis shrugged his shoulders.

”Oh, I suppose so. That is--well, to tell you the truth, I don't remember.”

For a second Vi stared at him; then she laughed, and he laughed with her.

”Oh! oh!” she cried, ”I believe you're telling the truth!”

They sat and talked. Nelton brought in tea; then they sat and talked some more. A distant bell boomed seven o'clock. Vi started, rose slowly to her feet, and stretched.

”Have you got your invitation for the Ruttle-Marter fancy-dress ball next week?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

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