Part 28 (2/2)

Then he asked her about Natalie. She told him many little things. At the end she said:

”I feel that I've told you nothing. Natalie is one of those persons that we generally call a 'queer girl' because we haven't the intelligence or the expression to define them. Our local wit said that she was a girl whom every man considered himself good enough for, but that considered herself too good for any man. That was unjust, but it sounded true because sooner or later all the eligibles lined up before Natalie--and in vain.” The lady frowned. ”But she wasn't selfish or hard. She used to let them hang on till they just dropped off. She was one of those women that nothing surprises. Her train was made up of the ugly and the handsome--bore, prude, wit, and libertine. She gave them all something; you could feel it. I think she got tired of giving and never taking.”

”Is she so beautiful?” asked Lewis.

”Beautiful? Oh, no,” said the lady, and then suddenly stopped and straightened. She laughed. ”Now I look back on it all, it seems she must be beautiful, but--but I know she isn't. Now _I'm_ talking nonsense.”

”No, you 're not,” said Lewis. ”There are women like that.” He reached out for his hat and stick.

”You're not going?” said the lady. ”You'll stay to tea?”

Lewis shook his head.

”You've been very kind,” he said, ”but I must be going.”

Without rising, she took the hand that he held out and then sat and watched his erect figure swing down the drive to the gate. Suddenly she remembered him. They had been together in school. She did not call him back. Bores are people that misjudge the values of impressions. The lady was not a bore; she was a wise woman.

By traveling overland to Rio, Lewis caught the newest and finest of the big steam-packets plying between Buenos Aires and Southampton. This old world of his had been moving apace in more ways than one. The years since, with his father, he had made this same trip were comparatively few, but during them progress had more than taken a long stride; it had crossed a line.

He dressed for dinner at eight. As he stepped into the dining-room, he paused and stared. It was like walking into some smart London restaurant after the theater. Gone were the long s.h.i.+p-boards at which for generations human beings had been lined up like cattle at a trough. In their place were scattered small tables, round and square, of a capacity varying from two to eight.

Around the tables wealth rioted. There were wealthy coffee-planters, who spent a yearly fortune on their annual trip to Paris, surrounded by their wives and such of their offspring as were old enough to escape the nursery table; planters, sheep- and cattle-men from the Argentine, some of them married, all accompanied; and women. Lewis had never before seen so many beautiful women at one time. It was _the_ boat of the season.

Over all hung an atmosphere of vintage wines.

Lewis was shown to a seat at a table for two. His _vis-a-vis_ was a rare, lonely little man. The black studs in his s.h.i.+rt seemed to explain him. He was sour and morose till he found Lewis could speak French, then he bubbled over with information. It transpired that the room was alive with situations.

”This is a crowded boat, but see the lady over there?”

Lewis's eyes followed the speaker's backward nod. He saw a remarkably beautiful blonde in evening dress sitting alone at a table for four. She kept her eyes steadily on her plate.

”We call her the d.u.c.h.ess,” continued the little man. ”She belongs to De la Valla, the sugar king. He's got his daughters with him, so she had to sit at another table, and he paid four pa.s.sages for her so she'd be kept alone.”

Lewis nodded politely.

”Now slant your eyes over my left shoulder,” continued the little man.

To Lewis's surprise, he saw another beautiful woman, a bright-eyed brunette, sitting alone at a table for four. He turned, interested, to his table companion for the explanation.

”Ah-ha!” said the little man, ”you begin to wake up. That, my friend, is Mlle. Folly Delaires. She's been playing in Buenos Aires. When she saw people staring at the d.u.c.h.ess, she stepped up to the purser's office and laid down the cash for a table for four. At first we thought it was just vanity and a challenge, but we know her better now. She's just the devil of mischief and several other things in the flesh. We ought all to be grateful for her.”

Lewis looked curiously at Mlle. Delaires. He watched to see her get up.

She pa.s.sed close to him. She did not have the height that his training had taught him was essential to beauty, but she had certain attributes that made one suddenly cla.s.s height with other bloodless statistics.

From her crown of brown hair to her tiny slippers she was alive.

Vitality did not radiate from her, but it seemed to lurk, like a constant, in her whole body and in her every supple movement. Lewis did not see it, but she was of the type that forever takes and never gives.

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