Chapter 15

She herself had killed his boyish shyness, his youthful hesitation, all the boy's natural fear of repulsion.

He was the man, she the woman. He dominated, she submitted; he was strong, she was weak; he was big, she was small.

"Oh, why----" she stammered, as he released her.

"Because--it is the only way. You could always have beaten me at talking----"

"You had no right to kiss me."

"I think I had. If a woman has a right to torment a man as you tormented me, he surely has a right to take whatever means he can of--getting even. Women are so brutal----"

He had found, she felt, the solution to the Eternal riddle.

Her heart was beating furiously, but her voice, as she went on, was cool enough.

"Look here, Teddy, I will tell you the truth about all this. Will you believe me?"

After a second's hesitation he answered, curtly: "Yes."

"Well--you are right. I mean your--method is right. It never occurred to me before that--well, that turn about is fair play. Women are brutes--particularly, perhaps, the good ones who flirt."

Cleeve laughed. "'The good ones who flirt.' Go on!"

"And I suppose you were, in a way, entitled to use against me the only weapons you had. You see, I am quite frank. Only--you used them too soon. I don't love you. Probably, if we had been together a week longer, I should have, but--I do _not_ love you at this minute."

"Wait till I'm gone," he observed, with his horrible young wisdom.

She frowned. "That has nothing to do with it. You leave here to-morrow morning, and on Friday you sail. And I do not love you. I am sorry for having hurt you. Believe this."

"I don't believe it. I'm not sorry, and I don't believe you are. Listen--the others are coming. Run back to the house, and I'll go and meet them. And first--let me kiss you again."

The voices, still afar seemed discordant in the white stillness.

Cleeve opened his arms. "Come. Then I shall believe you." Lady Harden took a step forward, and held her face bravely to his.

Then, just as he bent his head, she turned and hid her face on his arm. "I cannot," she whispered.

The Boy-Man's lips were set hard, his brows drawn down.

"Ah, Dagny, dearest," he whispered, "and I must go to-morrow."

She looked up. "You have won; I have lost; thank God you go to-morrow!" she answered.

A moment later she was speeding through the shadows toward the house, and Cleeve, lighting a cigarette, lounged down to the drive toward the laughing groups of returning frolickers.

A PRESENT-DAY CREED

What matters down here in the darkness? 'Tis only the rat that squeals, Crushed down under the iron hoof. 'Tis only the fool that feels.

'Tis only the child that weeps and sorrows For the death of a love or a rose; While grim in its grinding, soulless mask, Iron, the iron world goes.

God is an artist, mind is the all, Only the art survives. Just for a curve, a tint, a fancy, Millions on millions of lives!

If this be your creed, O late-world poet, Pass, with your puerile pose; For I am the fool, the child that suffers, That weeps and sleeps with the rose.

W. WILFRED CAMPBELL.

BETWEEN THE LINES

By M. H. VORSE

DRAMATIS PERSONAE--MISS PAYSLEY, _twenty-one, small, with a dignified carriage, when she remembers it, otherwise she is as impulsive as a little girl. She is pale, blond, blushes easily and has a way of looking at one with a straight, honest, gaze._

MR. JARVIS, _thirty, tall, well built. Has an easy-going, tolerant manner that is sometimes almost indifferent._

SCENE--_A lamplit piazza. The subdued light throws curious shadows on the thick growth of vines which screen the place from the street. Here and there where the vines are broken one may look out into the velvety blackness of the night. The piazza is furnished in the usual way. Rugs, wicker chairs, wicker tables. On the table a carafe with liquor and glasses. Litter of books, smoking things, etc._

_Enter_ MISS PAYSLEY _and_ MR. JARVIS.

MISS PAYSLEY (_pulling aside the vines_)--What a sense of space darkness gives one! I feel as if I were looking into eternity!

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)---That sounds like Millicent. (_Aloud._) Aren't you going to keep your promise?

MISS PAYSLEY--Don't you feel the greatness of space around you in a night like this?

Mr. Jarvis (_reproachfully_)--And I thought you were a woman of your word. I didn't bring you out here to look into limitless space. I brought you out here to look into my hand.

MISS PAYSLEY (_bringing her eyes to his, as if with effort, and blushing_)--You know I warned you! I'm awfully in earnest, and sometimes I say--well, things.

MR. JARVIS--I want the truth, you know. (_Shakes up the pillow in the hammock._)

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--He brought me out here to get me to hold his hand half an hour! None in mine, thanks! I'll show him! (_Aloud._) No, here, please, _quite_ under the light.

MR. JARVIS--You'll be ever so much more comfortable in the hammock.

MISS PAYSLEY (_with a malicious smile_)--You're so thoughtful! But light I _must_ have. Now the table. (_Moves the table between them._) Please let both your hands lie quite naturally on it.

MR. JARVIS (_disappointed_)--On the table? Oh! (_Aside._) At this rate palmistry won't be popular any more.

MISS PAYSLEY (_bends over his hand, then raises her eyes suddenly to Jarvis_)--You know it makes me almost nervous to read your hand. I feel, with some people, as if I were listening at the door and hearing secrets I oughtn't to. (_Aside._) I wouldn't do it for any one but Millicent. But I can't stand by and see that Orton woman---- How I hate engaged flirts!

MR. JARVIS--I'm not afraid; if I had been, why should I have asked you?

MISS PAYSLEY (_raising her eyes suddenly again_)--You may have had--your reasons.

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--That's a fetching way she has of raising her eyes. Wonder what she meant by that just now. (_Aloud._) How becoming the pale green of the leaves is to your hair.

MISS PAYSLEY--Turn your hands over, please. Now put your right one directly under the light. Oh!

MR. JARVIS--What do you see?

MISS PAYSLEY--What _strange, strange nails_. I've read about it, but I've never seen it before. Not so marked! It's the perfect type!

MR. JARVIS (_interested in spite of himself_)--What does it mean?

MISS PAYSLEY (_embarrassed, hesitating_)--It isn't pleasant.

MR. JARVIS (_looking at her_)--Go on!

MISS PAYSLEY (_reluctantly_)--Well, they mean--consumption! (_Aside._) They'll make him serious--besides, it _is_ the type.

MR. JARVIS (_rising to the bait_)--Why, I haven't a consumptive relative. (_Aside._) She is honest. And I was expecting the old Girdle of Venus gag. (_Aloud._) What does this line mean, and why are the veins of my hands so red?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--You don't catch this child this way. No compliments about your impressible temperaments from me. (_Aloud, meditatingly, slowly._) Those red lines--sometimes--they mean insanity--but in your case----

MR. JARVIS (_with sarcasm_)--Would you mind telling me at what age I am going to lose my teeth, or if I am in danger of breaking a leg? I had no idea palmistry was so pathological.

MISS PAYSLEY (_undisturbed_)--Hold your fingers up to the light.

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--Now for the old "you let money slip through your fingers."

MISS PAYSLEY--You don't know how to hold on to your fortune; you let the best thing in your life slip through your fingers.

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--Rather a good variant. (_Aloud._) What do you mean?

MISS PAYSLEY (_with impatience_)--How should I know what I mean? I'm telling you what I see. I don't know enough about you to have the answer to the riddle of your hand. Remember, we've only met twice.

MR. JARVIS--Three times.

MISS PAYSLEY--Twice, three times, half a dozen--it doesn't signify.

MR. JARVIS--It does to me.

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--I'm sorry for you, Millicent. (_Aloud._) You ought to know what I mean. Have you never been in danger of losing through your own carelessness--I mean, something you are fond of? (_Aside._) That's pretty pointed. I hope Millicent won't give me away.

MR. JARVIS--Have you ever heard about the expulsive power of a new--interest.

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--The pill. (_With reflection._) I've heard of changing one's mind.

MR. JARVIS (_holding up his hand, which is large and powerful_)--And my hand shows indecision of character?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--He's jesting. They're all alike--men. Keen for praise. (_Aloud._) I didn't say indecisive. You know what you want, but you often don't value what you have. You are ready to pay for a thing of lesser value with the one of greater.

MR. JARVIS--So few things have a fixed value; it's what they seem worth to you. You can only measure the worth of any given thing by the pleasure it gives you.

MISS PAYSLEY--The selfish man's creed. (_Glancing at his hand._) You are abominably selfish, you know--selfish and self-indulgent! You will sacrifice anything to attain something you want, except your own comfort!

MR. JARVIS (_with a fine air of impartiality_)--I don't think that's altogether true.

MISS PAYSLEY (_studying his hand intently_)--Yes, and you will sacrifice not only anything but anybody!

MR. JARVIS (_modestly_)--That is what has always endeared me so to my friends. I'm a sort of modern Moloch!

MISS PAYSLEY (_raising her eyes suddenly_)--Don't joke about it. It may be true. (_There is a strained eagerness in her manner that is quite convincing._)

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--Hanged if I don't think she believes this rot.

MISS PAYSLEY--Please hold up your hands with the first fingers touching. I thought so.

MR. JARVIS--What?

MISS PAYSLEY (_with conviction_)--Your best impulses you never follow to the end, either in your life or your work. For instance, I imagine your studio is full of half-finished canvases, the best work you have done, but unfinished. The work you expose, your finished stuff, is what has let itself be finished easily!

MR. JARVIS (_suspiciously_)--You guessed that from such of my work as you've seen.

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--That was a dead steal from Millicent! (_Aloud, coolly._) I haven't the pleasure of knowing much of your work, Mr. Jarvis. Please put your right hand under the light. (_Aside._) I'd better put him in good temper again. Queer how a man loves a chance of talking uninterruptedly about himself. (_Aloud._) You have an exaggerated worship of strength in yourself and others.

MR. JARVIS--Where do you see that?

MISS PAYSLEY--In the whole character of your hand. (_Aside._) Millicent said "strength and the admiration of strength is his keynote." (_Aloud._) You must see for yourself that your hand isn't a weak one, and see how the lines are cut--as if with a chisel. (_Aside._) He's purring already like a Cheshire cat.

MR. JARVIS--What do you mean by an exaggerated worship of strength?

MISS PAYSLEY--I mean you underscore strength too much among the other virtues.

MR. JARVIS--Can one? A man, I mean?

MISS PAYSLEY--And with that as the foundation of your character, it's astonishing what weak-minded things you do!

MR. JARVIS--How graceful!

MISS PAYSLEY--What else do you call all those unfinished canvases? The line of least resistance isn't strength.

MR. JARVIS (_with pathos_)--One would think I were your Sunday-school class.

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--It's time to give him more toffey. (_Aloud._) Your popularity has been one of the reasons of your not always following your creed of strength.

MR. JARVIS (_modestly_)--Yes, my fatal beauty has always stood in the way of my living up to my ideals!

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--Oh, you may sneer, but you know you like it. Else you wouldn't be here. (_Aloud._) There is something here I don't understand.

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--I was waiting for that to come. (_Aloud._) Go on!

MISS PAYSLEY--Please let your hand drop over from the wrist. How unusual!

MR. JARVIS (_interested_)--I've never seen that done before.

MISS PAYSLEY (_tranquilly_)--You have your fortune told early and often?

MR. JARVIS (_undisturbed_)--As often as possible!

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--Of course you never lose a chance of talking about yourself! (_Aloud._) You've a very unusual hand. You're two or three people, one at the top of the other.

MR. JARVIS (_plaintively_)--One would think I were a ham sandwich.

MISS PAYSLEY (_calmly_)--A layer cake, I should put it.

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--You can't feaze her. She's really prettier than Mrs. Orton. (_Aloud._) What are my many characters? It's interesting. (_Aside._) Now for the "You know the higher but follow the lower."

MISS PAYSLEY--Fundamentally, beside your love of strength, you are simple, kindly, unaffected. You would be happy married to a girl kindly and unaffected like yourself. (_Aside._) I mustn't give too pointed a description of Millicent.

MR. JARVIS--The country---- Milking time? Love in a cottage? Baby's first step?

MISS PAYSLEY--Laugh, if you like, but that's really what you like, and what would make you happy! That's the sort of atmosphere you do your best work in. You need for a wife some one not too self-assertive, and who believes in you. You need a certain sort of appreciation to work well--and wanting appreciation, you put up with flattery.

MR. JARVIS--I just live on flattery.

MISS PAYSLEY (_with conviction_)--You drink it in by the pailful! You don't mind if it's put on with a butter knife!

MR. JARVIS (_who has gotten more and more interested_)--What becomes of my strength then?

MISS PAYSLEY--Oh, you only live on flattery when you are starved for legitimate appreciation. (_Aside._) I think I got out of that rather neatly. (_Aloud._) You are really idealistic, with a good deal of sentiment, and, selfish as you are, you have a heart.

MR. JARVIS (_gratefully_)--Thank you for the heart.

MISS PAYSLEY--You like to have people think you are cynical and light-minded. You only show your real self to a few people.

MR. JARVIS--He sounds to me like a prig and a bore.

MISS PAYSLEY (_with more warmth than she has shown yet_)--He's a charming and delightful person. It's the man of the world with the-smile-that-won't-come-off that's the bore!

MR. JARVIS--Have you found me so?

MISS PAYSLEY (_steadily_)--Not when I've read between the lines.

MR. JARVIS (_looking at Miss Paysley searchingly_)---I really think you're honest.

MISS PAYSLEY (_returning his look_)--What did you think I came out here for?

MR. JARVIS (_still looking into Miss Paysley's eyes_)--Apparently to give me your unvarnished opinion of me. Please go on.

MISS PAYSLEY--I've described the first and second layers of the cake.

MR. JARVIS--Isn't there any frosting?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--They simply are insatiable for praise. (_Aloud._) The frosting doesn't count. I've been eating the frosting ever since I met you.

MR. JARVIS (_meekly_)--I hope you liked it.

MISS PAYSLEY (_harking back to the last remark but one_)--This superimposed you has different tastes, likes different women--and is more easily taken in.

MR. JARVIS--How more easily taken in?

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--I thought I'd get a rise. Now for the plunge. (_Aloud._) I mean that in your own world, among the people who think as you do, you can tell the real ones from those who are only shams.

MR. JARVIS (_quickly_)--Whereas, in the world represented by what we have agreed to call the upper layer of the cake, I don't know a lump of flour from a raisin?

MISS PAYSLEY--Exactly.

MR. JARVIS--May I ask if you are a real raisin--as I've given you the credit of being?

MISS PAYSLEY--Oh! you should know what I am. I don't belong to the upper layer--the highly spiced one.

MR. JARVIS--Would you mind telling me if there is any particular lump of flour now passing itself off on me as a raisin?

MISS PAYSLEY (_with dignity_)--My good man, this is palmistry, not a life saving expedition! (_Aside._) He's a little too quick.

MR. JARVIS--It seemed to me to have something to do with the art of portrait painting.

MISS PAYSLEY--I'm not responsible, am I, for the lines in your hand?

MR. JARVIS--No, nor for your opinion of me.

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--You can't get a rise out of me that way. (_Aloud._) No, nor for that, either.

MR. JARVIS--Let's sift down the evidence. I'm in danger of losing something that is precious to me, or, rather, I'm in danger of paying with my gold piece for a brazen image. I don't follow my best impulses to the end. I'm a layer cake with a substantial piece of home-made cake for my under layer and an inferior article on top. Miss Paysley, would you kindly tell me if this cross in my left hand is a warning to avoid widows with pale, gold hair?

MISS PAYSLEY--I wish you would tell me if you came out here with the honest intention of having your fortune told?

MR. JARVIS (_aside._)--She can give Mrs. Orton cards and spades. (_Aloud._) Did you come out here with the intention of telling my fortune?

MISS PAYSLEY (_slowly_)--I've done what I came out for!

MR. JARVIS--And that was?

MISS PAYSLEY (_rising and turning away_)--Something I foolishly thought I ought to do.

MR. JARVIS--Foolishly? I think it was too lovely of you to take any interest in my affairs at all.

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--I've never seen anyone so insupportable, and he looks--nice! (_Aloud, with wide-open eyes._) _Your_ affairs! You don't suppose it's for _you?_

MR. JARVIS--Eh?

MISS PAYSLEY--I suppose you think that there is no such thing as real loyalty or friendship between girls?

MR. JARVIS--Oh! (_They both are silent a moment, each measuring the other._)

MR. JARVIS (_steadily_)--Have you happened to hear of Millicent Holt's engagement?

MISS PAYSLEY (_throwing down her hand_)--You oughtn't to ask her best friend that!

MR. JARVIS (_calmly_)--To Bob Burke, I mean.

MISS PAYSLEY (_entirely taken aback_)--To Bob Burke! She never did! Not Millicent! I could have sworn to Millicent!

MR. JARVIS (_still calmly_)--So could I. So I did.

MISS PAYSLEY (_with horror-struck eyes_)--But I don't understand!

MR. JARVIS--I didn't, at first, either. It seems Bobby Burke's soul and hers are twins, or something of that kind. So where do I come in?

MISS PAYSLEY--But when we were abroad together----

MR. JARVIS--Please don't! I know I take a "lump of dough for a raisin," but----

MISS PAYSLEY (_impulsively_)--Please forgive me. I thought----

MR. JARVIS--That I was "doing your friend dirt," for the sake of a brazen image.

MISS PAYSLEY (_bravely_)--What else was I to think?

MR. JARVIS (_gravely_)--And for the sake of your friend you told me what you thought of me. (_Aside._) I believe you at least do tell the truth.

MISS PAYSLEY (_impulsively_)--I didn't tell you _all_ the truth. I only told you the horrid part.

MR. JARVIS--And why wouldn't you tell me the rest?

MISS PAYSLEY (_in a humble little voice_)--Because I was fool enough to think you were spoiled enough already! (_Aside._) How could Millicent--Bobby Burke--that purple ass. Think of throwing _him_ over for Bobby Burke!

MR. JARVIS (_aside_)--How pretty she is. (_Aloud._) Life hasn't exactly spoiled me lately. (_Aside._) And I've been wasting time on Mrs. Orton.

MISS PAYSLEY (_impulsively_)--And now if I had your hand to tell over again, I would tell you all--the other things first.

MR. JARVIS--It's not too late.

MISS PAYSLEY--And I wasn't honest about another thing. We've met four times--I remember them all. (_Aside._) I've been a beast to him. Mrs. Orton shan't have him to hurt. And Millicent---- All women are cats!

MR. JARVIS--So do I. The first time you were nice to me, and the second time you were nice----

MISS PAYSLEY--Because of Millicent.

MR. JARVIS--And the third time--you snubbed me. I suppose that was because of Millicent, too.

MISS PAYSLEY (_aside_)--It was because of Mrs. Orton. (_Aloud, with conviction and blushing._) And to-night I've been--simply horrid.

MR. JARVIS--To-night you've told me more of my fortune than you've any idea. (_Aside._) She's adorable when she blushes!

MISS PAYSLEY (_still red_)--I've been an impertinent, meddling thing!

MR. JARVIS--You've taught me a great deal. I'm going to follow my good impulses to the end--beginning now. So please look quickly in your own hand and tell me if a man with a character like a layer cake has a great influence on your life?

MISS PAYSLEY--I told you you followed the line of least resistance.

THE BABY'S CURLS

By MARGARET HOUSTON

A little skein of tangled floss they lie, (You always said they should have been a girl's.) The tears will come--you cannot quite tell why-- They fall unheeded on that mass--his curls. Poor little silken skein, so dear to you. "'Twere better short," the wiser father said, "He's getting older now."--Alas, how true! And yet you wonder where the years have fled.

"'Twere better short----" the while your fond heart yearned To keep them still, reluctant standing by, You saw your little angel, earthward turned, Yet all unknowing, lay his halo by. Soft little threads! They held you with such strength! You knew the way each wanton ringlet fell, You knew each shining tendril's golden length, How oft they've tangled, only you can tell.

In dusky twilight shadows, oh, how oft You've seen their light along your shoulder lie. You leaned your cheek to touch the masses soft, The while you crooned some drowsy lullaby. How often when the sun was dawning red You bent above him in the early ray, And from that glory round the baby head You drew your light for all the weary day.

And now--you start--the front door gives a slam-- The hall resounds with little, hurrying feet, He climbs upon your knee--the wee, shorn lamb,-- And dries your tears with kisses, warm and sweet. You fold your sorrow from his happy eyes-- (You always said they should have been a girl's.) Half of his Eden sunlight buried lies Amid the meshes of those baby curls.

BROWN BETTY

By GRACE S. RICHMOND

"It's all right, Joe," said Miss Farnsworth, rapidly drawing on a pair of heavy white gloves. "You needn't be in the least afraid to trust me with the colts. And the station agent can find somebody to help him load the wagon for me."

She sprang in and took her seat at the front of the big farm wagon--a most unusual and dainty figure there, in her crisp white linen. She gathered the reins deftly, said gayly to the people on the farmhouse porch: "When I come back I'll show you unpatriotic persons how to keep Fourth of July in the country," and would have driven off with a flourish but for one unforeseen and effective hindrance. Joe remained stolidly at the heads of the two restless black colts.

"You may give them their heads now, Joe," said the girl, decisively.

"In jest a minute, miss."

"Now. I'm in a hurry."

But Joe remained stationary. He turned his head and eyed uneasily a window above the porch, murmuring: "Jest a minute, now----"

Miss Farnsworth waited half the designated period, then she said, imperatively: "Joe, be so kind as to let go of those horses."

Joe pretended to have found something wrong with the bridle of the off horse. Miss Farnsworth watched him skeptically. And an instant later Stuart Jarvis appeared upon the porch, hat in hand, smiling at the driver of the farm wagon.

"May I go with you?" he asked, easily, coming up.

There was no reason why she should refuse, particularly with three middle-aged women, two elderly gentlemen, and four girls observing with interest from the porch. Neither was there good reason for refusing to allow Mr. Jarvis to take the reins, since he leaped up at the right side of the wagon, and held out his hand for them as a matter of course. But the moment they were around the first bend in the road Agnes Farnsworth attempted to adjust affairs to her original intentions.

"Would you mind letting me drive?" she asked. The words, though spoken with a silver tongue, had rather the effect of a notification than of an interrogation.