Part 29 (2/2)
”Why, that's no way to talk. Aren't you doing ANYTHING?”
”Not much,” he grinned boyishly.
”But, John, that's sheer laziness! How do you ever expect to get out of the groove, if you don't make a start?”
”Oh, d.a.m.n it all, Martie,” he said mildly, with a whimsical smile, ”what's the use? I suppose there isn't a furniture clerk in the city that doesn't feel he is fit for great things!”
”You didn't talk like this last year,” Martie said, in disappointment and reproach. John looked at her uneasily, and then said boldly:
”How's Ted?”
”Sweet.” Martie laid one hand on her breast, and drew a short, stifled breath. ”Isn't it fearful?” she said, of the heat.
John nodded absently: she knew him singularly unaffected by anything so trivial as mere heat or cold. He was fingering a magazine carelessly, suddenly he flung it aside.
”I am writing something, of course!” he confessed. ”But it seems sort of rotten, to me.”
”But I'm glad!” she said, with s.h.i.+ning eyes.
”I work at it in the office,” John added. ”And what is it?”
”You know what it is: you suggested it!”
”_I_ did?”
”You said it would make a good play.”
Martie's thin cheek dimpled, she widened her eyes.
”I don't remember!”
”It was when I was reading Strickland's 'Queens.' You said that this one's life would make a good play.”
”Oh, I do dimly remember!” She knotted her brows. ”Mary--Mary Isabelle--an Italian girl?--wasn't it?”
”Mary Beatrice,” he corrected simply.
”Of course! And does it work up pretty well?”
”Fine!”
”How much have you done, John?”
”Oh, not much!”
”Oh, John, for heaven's sake--you will drive me insane!” she laughed joyously, laying her hand over his. ”Tell me about it.” She laughed again when he drew some crumpled pages from his pocket. But he was presently garrulous, sketching his plan to her, reading a pa.s.sage here and there, firing her with his own interest and delight. He had as little thought of boring her as she of being bored, they fled together from the noise and heat of the city, and trod the Dover sands, and rode triumphant into the old city of London at the King's side.
”I'm not a judge--I wish I was,” she said finally. ”But it seems to me extraordinary!”
He silently folded the sheets, and put them away. Glancing at his face, she saw that its thoughtful look was almost stern. Martie wondered if she had said something to offend him.
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