Part 11 (2/2)
”How can I say? Fortune is always in the future.”
”You are teasing me and telling me nothing,” she declared, ”and you are laughing, laughing, too, as if over some secret and mysterious joke.”
”I am laughing,” he said, suddenly serious, ”but not over any of the revelations of Mademoiselle Mariposa, I can a.s.sure you; and to show you my faith in her prophecies, I am going to tell you something.” He was grave enough now. ”And yet, I wonder--perhaps--”
”Perhaps what?”
”Perhaps you will find no interest in what I want to say.”
She looked up at him quickly, surprise in her glance. ”How absurd! I do not see why you say such things. Why should you fancy that I would not be interested in anything you have to tell me?”
They had turned down a narrow lane of trees, and the skies, a deeper and more luminous gold, were in a net of bare, black twigs. The wind bore the fragrance of Marcia's violets past Hayden's nostrils.
”But you may not feel so when I tell you that I love you, Marcia.” His voice low and unsteady thrilled her heart. ”I realize the rashness of the whole thing; but I do love you, Marcia.”
There was a moment's silence, a silence when Hayden's heart-beats sounded louder than the patter of their feet on the concrete pavement or the distant and mighty roar of the city--and then Marcia lifted her eyes to his.
In a moment the miracle had happened. Above them stretched the same gold sky in its intricate and broken nets, the wind blew softly; but they two had stepped across the boundaries of commonplace days straight into Arcady. Flowers bloomed, birds sang, and the soul of the spring was in their hearts. But, curiously enough, though they were in Arcady, they were also in the Park. Hayden looked up the little lane; north and south marched an unending line of people. They were in Arcady, but deprived of its ancient privilege of sylvan and umbrageous solitude.
She was the first to speak. ”Why is it absurd?” And her clear voice trembled a little.
”How can it be, as things stand, anything but absurd?” he answered bitterly. ”I am simply an engineer on my vacation, who when that is over will return to the wilds. Oh, Marcia, how can I in common decency ask you to marry me? I can not yet, but I do ask you to let me love you, to forgive me for telling you of my feeling for you, and believe me when I tell you that I would not have had the courage to mention the subject if I did not feel almost sure of a change of fortune. I don't want to tell you just yet. I'm trying not to tell you; but dearest, loveliest Marcia, I believe I'm on the eve of success. I can almost close my fingers around it, and then you will let me tell you I love you, won't you, dearest?
Yes, laugh at me, I don't mind.”
”But suppose, just suppose this wonderful fortune never does materialize,” she said half-teasingly but still tremulously, a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. ”What then?”
”Never suppose it. It can't help it,” he cried confidently. ”Why even now I can see particles of gold in the air. To-morrow, next day, the day afterward, we shall have our cake. Will you eat it with me, Marcia, if it's a nice, brown, plum-y cake?”
”You make too many conditions,” she said demurely. ”I don't care for very rich cake myself. Suppose the cake should not turn out particularly well in the baking? Wouldn't you offer me a piece anyway--Bobby?”
Again he looked up the path and down the path; people still hastening to and fro. Arcady was infested with toilers hurrying home to supper.
”I'd try not to,” he said manfully, keeping his eyes resolutely away from hers. ”Oh, Marcia, I can't be certain, I'd try not to. I couldn't bear to see you eating underdone cake. It would only mean misery to you. Your manner of life--”
”My manner of life!” she interrupted him scornfully. ”Ah, what is my manner of life! Do you fancy that I am deaf as a post and blind as a bat?
Do you think that I do not know some of the things that are spoken of me, by Mrs. Ames, for instance, or Horace Penfield, or even Edith Symmes? Do you fancy any word of that t.i.ttle-tattle escapes me? Sometimes it is repeated, or hinted in malice; sometimes as from Bea or Kitty in fright, as a warning, almost a prayer. I know that I lay myself open to gossip; but I can not help it, at least at present. It is impossible for me to alter things just now.”
”I know,” he murmured tenderly. ”I am sure of it. I have realized something of this from the first moment that I met you. But always since that moment I could stake my life on this, that any--any mystery that might seem to exist was not of your making or choosing. And I want to a.s.sure you of something, to make you believe it if necessary; and that is, dear, dear Marcia, if you never choose to unravel the tangle I shall still be content.”
She looked at him a moment in absolute, speechless wonder, and then tears, happy tears brimmed in her eyes. ”Oh, how glad I shall be to unravel it!” She breathed deeply. ”How glad! Wait a little--a week, a fortnight. Ah!” She caught herself up hastily. ”Come, see how late! It is growing dark and the lights are beginning to twinkle out, and they tell me, even if you will not, that it is time I ran home and got dressed. I'm to dine at Bea Habersham's to-night. You must come in with me when we reach home and let mother give you a cup of tea. You are a tremendous favorite of hers; she says you are wonderfully witty. And then you can drive as far as Bea's with me, and I will have the chauffeur take you on home. Will you?”
”Will I? Will I? Thank you very much, Miss Oldham, for your amiability in Suggesting such a thing; but I could not possibly take advantage of your kindness.” If the wit of this sally may be judged by the manner in which it was received Hayden had just uttered one of the great bon-mots of the ages.
”I hope,” said Marcia presently, a touch of apprehension in her tone, ”that some one has been to see mother this afternoon. Poor dear! She always feels a little aggrieved if no one comes.”
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