Part 3

It was in the morning.

She was walking.

So was he.

She was walking up.

He was walking down.

They met.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

They passed.

He looked around.

So did she.

She walked on.

He followed her.

She knew when he was behind her.

She knew when he was beside her.

And then he spoke.

“I beg your pardon!” said the Man.

“What is it?” said the Woman.

“Please do not misunderstand me,” said the Man.

“I will try not to,” said the Woman.

“I am an American,” said the Man.

“Yes,” said the Woman.

“I am here alone,” said the Man.

“Well?” said the Woman.

“And I am--lonely,” said the Man.

“What has this to do with me?” said the Woman.

“That is what I want to know,” said the Man.

“Indeed?” said the Woman.

“You are an American,” said the Man.

“Yes,” said the Woman.

“You are here alone,” said the Man.

“I am,” said the Woman.

“And you are--lonely,” said the Man.

“I am--not,” said the Woman.

“Oh, I thought you were!” said the Man.

“Well, you have made a mistake!” said the Woman.

“You _have_ misunderstood me!” said the Man.

“No,” said the Woman, “_you_ have misunderstood _me_!”

She walked away.

He stood still.

* * * * *

That afternoon, when she drove, she saw the Man and he saw her.

That night, when she dined, she saw the Man and he saw her.

The next morning, when she walked, she saw the Man and he saw her.

And so it went--morning, noon and night.

Day after day.

He never spoke.

He never made a sign.

And neither did she.

But he was always--there.

* * * * *

Now he was a Man.

And she was a Woman.

He was an American.

And so was she.

So at last--one evening, in the foyer of the hotel, she bowed to him.

He came over to her.

She held out her hand.

He took it.

He looked into her eyes.

She looked into his.

“You _are_ lonely!” said the Man.

“No,” said the Woman, “not any more!”

* * * * *

Mrs. Pepper wrote to Tom, in New York.

And to Dick, in New York.

And to Harry, in New York.

And she said, “I love Paris!”

MOON-MADNESS

IT was noontime.

Noontime in Bombay.

Nana Lalla fared forth through the town.

The streets were narrow and winding.

They were lined with shops.

Goldsmiths and silversmiths.

Fruit-shops and sweet-shops.

Merchants and money changers.

Before these booths people stopped and stared.

Bargained and bartered.

Went in, or went on.

Great throngs tramped up and down.

To and fro.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Some in flowing robes.

Some in scanty rags.

Dogs trotted at one’s side.

Bullocks pushed at one’s back.

And all the time the sun shone in the sky.

Shone like a ball of fire.

It burned the world with its blazing beams.

Nana Lalla hated the day.

And she loathed the sun.

She did not look to the left.

Nor to the right.

She looked straight before her.

And she went her way.

* * * * *

It was midnight.

Midnight in Bombay.

Nana Lalla was in her room.

She lay on her couch.

Her eyes were open.

But she was dreaming.

Dreaming of sweet-smelling flowers.

And soft-splashing fountains.

And bright-beaming eyes.

Of such things the poets prated.

Of such things the singers sang.

And Nana Lalla had read the poets’ rhymes.

And Nana Lalla had heard the singers’ melodies.

She delighted in these things.

Delighted in them exceedingly.

She tossed and she turned.

She sighed and she sobbed.

And then she arose.

She went to the window.

She looked through the lattice.

The moon shone in the sky.

Shone like a pool of silver.

It bathed the world in liquid light.

Nana Lalla loved the night.

And she worshipped the moon.

* * * * *

Nana Lalla wound a scarf about her body.

Draped a shawl over her head.

And slipped sandals on her feet.

She stole out of her room.

She slipped out of the house.

And once again she fared forth through the town.

* * * * *

Never had Nana Lalla known such a night.

Never had Nana Lalla seen such a moon.

So soft, and so silver.

So gentle, and so gracious.

And yet with all, so--maddening.

Nana Lalla’s eyes sparkled.

Nana Lalla’s hands trembled.

And Nana Lalla’s heart beat high.

Oh, could she only flee away from the city!

Could she only flee away to the country!

Could she only flee away--by the light of the moon!

Or else--could only something happen!

Something strange.

Something sweet.

If only--

Someone stood before her.

Someone spoke to her.

Someone touched her arm.

It was a man.

And yes--his eyes were sparkling too.

His hands were trembling also.

And his heart was beating as wildly as was hers.

She could see.

She could tell.

She could feel.

He and she were alone.

Alone at midnight.

And the moon was shining.

How she loved the moon!

And perhaps he loved it too.

Nana Lalla was not afraid.

Instead, she was full of hope.

He must _love_ the moon--even as did she!

So, when he touched her, she did not shrink away.

When he took her in his arms, she yielded herself.

And when he kissed her--she responded....

The Man always remembered Nana Lalla.

He had loved her.

And he thought that she had loved him.

But Nana Lalla soon forgot the Man.

She had not loved him.

She had only loved--the Moon....

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

On page 60, spang has been changed to sprang.

All other spelling has been retained as typeset.