Part 50 (1/2)

He was single-hearted, sincere; stirred by a very genuine overwhelming emotion. She on the contrary was moved by many emotions at once;--a pleasure she was half ashamed of; a disappointment she could not clearly define; as if some one had told her the whole plot of a promising new novel; a sense of fear of the new hopes she had been holding, and of startled loyalty to her long-held purposes.

”Stop!” she said--for he evidently mistook her agitation, and thought her silence was consent. ”I suppose I do--love you--a little; but you've no right to kiss me like that!”

His eyes shone. ”You Darling! _My_ Darling!” he said. ”You will give me the right, won't you? Now, Dearest--see! I am waiting!” And he held out his arms to her.

But Rosamond was more and more displeased. ”You will have to wait. I'm sorry; but I'm not ready to be engaged, yet! You know my plans. Why I'm going to Paris this year! I'm going to work! It will be ever so long before I'm ready to--to settle down.”

”As to that,” he said more calmly, ”I cannot of course offer immediate marriage, but we can wait for that--together! You surely will not leave me--if you love me!”

”I think I love you,” she said conscientiously, ”at least I did think so. You've upset it all, somehow--you hurry me so!--no--I can't bind myself yet.”

”Do you tell me to wait for you?” he asked; his deep voice still strong to touch her heart. ”How long, Dearest?”

”I'm not asking you to wait for me--I don't want to promise anything--nor to have you. But when I have made a place--am really doing something--perhaps then--”

He laughed harshly. ”Do not deceive yourself, child, nor me! If you loved me there would be none of this poor wish for freedom--for a career. You don't love me--that's all!”

He waited for her to deny this. She said nothing. He did not know how hard it was for her to keep from crying--and from running to his arms.

”Very well,” said he. ”Goodby!”--And he was gone.

All that happened three years ago.

Allen G.o.ddard took it very hard; and added to his earlier ideas about women another, that ”the new woman” was a selfish heartless creature, indifferent to her own true nature.

He had to stay where he was and work, owing to the pressure of circ.u.mstances, which made it harder; so he became something of a mysogynyst; which is not a bad thing when a young man has to live on very little and build a place for himself.

In spite of this cynicism he could not remove from his mind those softly brilliant dark eyes; the earnest thoughtful lines of the pure young face; and the changing lights and shadows in that silky hair. Also, in the course of his work, he was continually reminded of her; for her characteristic drawings appeared more and frequently in the magazines, and grew better, stronger, more convincing from year to year.

Stories of adventure she ill.u.s.trated admirably; children's stories to perfection; fairy stories--she was the delight of thousands of children, who never once thought that the tiny quaint rose in a circle that was to be found in all those charming pictures meant a name. But he noticed that she never ill.u.s.trated love stories; and smiled bitterly, to himself.

And Rosamond?

There were moments when she was inclined to forfeit her pa.s.sage money and throw herself unreservedly into those strong arms which had held her so tightly for a little while. But a bud picked open does not bloom naturally; and her tumultuous feelings were thoroughly dissipated by a long strong attack of _mal de mer._ She derived two advantages from her experience: one a period of safe indifference to all advances from eager fellow students and more cautious older admirers; the other a facility she had not before aspired to in the making of pictures of love and lovers.

She made pictures of him from memory--so good, so moving, that she put them religiously away in a portfolio by themselves; and only took them out--sometimes. She ill.u.s.trated, solely for her own enjoyment some of her girlhood's best loved poems and stories. ”The Rhyme of the d.u.c.h.ess May,” ”The Letter L,” ”In a Balcony,” ”In a Gondola.” And hid them from herself even--they rather frightened her.

After three years of work abroad she came home with an established reputation, plenty of orders, and an interest that would not be stifled in the present state of mind of Mr. Allen G.o.ddard.

She found him still at work, promoted to fifteen dollars a week by this time, and adding to his income by writing political and statistical articles for the magazines. He talked, when they met, of this work, with little enthusiasm, and asked her politely about hers.

”Anybody can see mine!” she told him lightly. ”And judge it easily.”

”Mine too,” he answered. ”It to-day is--and to-morrow is cast into the waste-basket. He who runs may read--if he runs fast enough.”

He told himself he was glad he was not bound to this hard, bright creature, so unnaturally self-sufficient, and successful.

She told herself that he had never cared for her, really, that was evident.