Part 37 (2/2)
We have a World that's ours alone. We could take it with us wherever we went.”
”H lne,” whispered Lewis, ”why didn't you go?”
”H lne unlocked her hands, put them on the lounge at her sides, and stayed herself on them. She stared at the floor.
”We didn't go,” she said, ”because of the terrible things that love--bitter love--had done to us.”
She turned luminous eyes toward Lewis.
”You say you love Folly; you think she loves you. Lew, perhaps, she _is_ your pal to-day. Will she be your pal always? You know what a pal is.
You've told me about that little girl Natalie. A pal is one who can't do wrong, who can't go wrong, who can't grow wrong. Your pal is you--your blood, your body, your soul. Is Folly your blood, your body, your soul?
If she is, she'll grow finer and finer and you will, too, and years and time and place will fade away before the greatest battle-cry the world has ever known--'We're partners.'”
H lne turned her eyes away.
”But if you're not really pals for always, the one that doesn't care will grow coa.r.s.e. If it's Folly, her past will seize upon her. She'll run from your condemning eyes, but you--you can't run from your own soul.
”Lew, I know. I'm awake. Every woman has a right to an awakening, but most of them by good fortune miss it. There's one in ten that doesn't. I didn't. The tenth woman--that's what I'm coming to, and whether it's the tenth woman or the tenth man, it's all the same in bitter love.”
H lne's eyes took on the far-away look that blots out the present world, and clothes a distant vision in flesh and blood.
”You saw what you saw to-day,” she went on in a voice so low that Lewis leaned forward to catch her words. ”Remember that, and then listen. The love that comes to youth is like the dawn of day. There is no resplendent dawn without a sun, nor does the flower of a woman's soul open to a lesser light. The tenth woman,” she repeated, ”the one woman.
To her awakening comes with a man, not through him. He is part of the dawn of life, and though clouds may later hide his s.h.i.+ning face, her heart remembers forever the glory of the morning.”
The tears welled from her eyes unheeded. Lewis leaped forward with a cry.
”H lne! H lne!”
She held him off.
”Don't touch me!” she gasped. ”I only wanted you to see the whole burden of love. Now go, dear. Please go. I'm--I'm very tired.”
CHAPTER XL
Lewis, walking rapidly toward the flat, was thinking over all that Lady Derl had said and was trying to bring Folly into line with his thoughts.
He had never pictured Folly old. He tried now and failed. Folly and youth were inseparable; Folly _was_ youth. Then he gave up thinking of Folly. That moment did not belong to her. As once before, the fragrance and the memory of H lne clung to him, held him.
He pa.s.sed slowly into the room where Leighton sat. He felt a dread lest his father ask him what it was H lne had said. But he wronged his father. Leighton merely glanced up, flashed a look into the eyes of his son. He saw and knew the light that was there for the light that lingers in the eyes of him who comes from looking upon holy inner places.
For an hour neither spoke, then Leighton said:
”Going out to lunch to-day?”
”No,” said Lewis; ”I've told Nelton I'd be in.”
”About this marriage,” said Leighton, smiling. ”Let's look on it as a settled thing that there's going to be a marriage. Have you thought about the date and ways and means?”
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