Part 18
She came forth from the inner room. She halted a few feet from him, and he saw her searching, imploring look. His shoulders straightened, his hands dropped to his side. The finer elements of his understanding sensed the great need of a woman, which his brain did not actually register. To answer her need in action, however, was instantly more dominant within him than his thirst for herself.
She came a step nearer. Light was filling her eyes--the shining of an almost incredible hope.
“Oh, Dicky, you can! I believe you can!”
“Yes?”
She was nearer.
“And I can come and rest--a little?”
“Yes, Pidge----”
“I want to rest so badly, you know.”
She had come to him under the light.
“... And, oh, since I knew you were coming, everything has been different. I haven’t been _me_ at all! I’ve never played--and now everything--all work--is silly, unimportant. Dicky, everything seems to be done!”
“I’m on the job, Pidge; you can play----”
“Until I find myself--you--you will stand for two?”
“Of course, Pidge.”
“All my things, your things, Dicky--so I can rush away and breathe?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Rufe Melton and my father and the desk--all yours?”
“And the baby, too, Pidge.”
“Dicky--Dicky--don’t dare to look! I’m going to cry!”
“... Since your telegram from San Francisco--it seemed I could hardly stay alive! Oh, it’s so good to rest!”
“Not a hurry in the world!”
“Everything seemed done--and no place for me!... Rufe and a rich girl uptown--oh, they’re in full blossom and he wants to be free! My father caught on in New York--no need now for me. _The Public Square_ on the high road at last; your Amritsar story capturing the whole field; nothing to do but to feed the presses more and more; Miss Claes gone, and the Legacy--oh, Dicky, I saw your hand back of that! I couldn’t miss it. It touched me--touched me----”
“It was his idea first, Pidge. All I had to do was to help him carry it out.”
“All happened at once--all the strains lifted--no one depending--no one needing me!... I’ve been dying to be a woman just once. I’ve never dared--never had time. It’s so terrible to feel like a woman and not be able----”
“Why not now, Pidge?”
“Don’t think, Dicky! I’m just resting a little. We must work together a lot. We must clear our heads with stacks of work--and then maybe we’ll know if we can play.... Fanny Gallup did that for me, and Rufe Melton is as much a baby as his infant. Other girl, or not--Rufe will always need--us!”
“Pidge, listen! I couldn’t stand any more than that now. To have you say that--_us_! To have the work with you--to have earned that--to have your faith; that you dare come this close--to have years to make the big moments we have known apart, come true together--I couldn’t stand more, right now; that’s the fact of it--quite!”
She stepped back from him looking strangely into his face again.
“Dicky!”
“Yes?”
“The boy has come back to your face--that you lost in Africa--but the new and lasting Boy!”
He laughed and looked around the room. It was furnished, but barely, the “parlor” having reverted to a sleeping room.
“But how did it happen--that we should come here, Pidge?”
“I couldn’t let you come to Gramercy Park. I remembered that you waited to see me here after Africa, not at the office. I came down this way--the afternoon of the Legacy and saw the sign, ‘Rooms, Permanent and Transient.’... I’m better now. It’s been hours, hasn’t it?”
He thought of Conrad, whom he had told to wait.
“... This room’s all paid for,” she whispered. “I mean we don’t have to stop to speak to anybody--only walk out.”
Their eyes held.
“Dicky!”
“Yes----”
“Let’s go--now.”
“I’m--I’m ready.”
“Dear Dicky, the years have done so much for you! The blur, the maze has gone out from between us. It’s so much more wonderful, isn’t it, than that other night here, when I almost, almost----?”
He waited for her to reach the hall curtains, before he turned off the light. In the dimness of the hall, he heard her low, slow tone:
“Fanny’s room was back--at the far end on this floor----”
“... I remember once, Pidge, I went up the next flight and knocked at the door of your little back room----”
“That’s gone now,” she answered.
“Gone?”
“My two books that were written there--and all the rest! I can tell you everything now--and of the book that is still to be written--our story, Dicky.”
“A continued story,” he said.
They went down into the street, into the car.
THE END
NOVELS OF SUPREME LITERARY ART
=THE GLIMPSES OF THE MOON=
By EDITH WHARTON
“I can think of no American novel, written within the last few years, and dealing with contemporary life, to compare with it. And not only does Mrs. Wharton write better than anyone else, but she knows how to unfold a more exciting tale.”--Katherine Fullerton Gerould in the _New York Times_.
=THE MIRACLE=
By E. TEMPLE THURSTON
A keen, human story of the west coast of Ireland, with peculiar fascination in the rich background of Irish folk lore.
=THE VAN ROON=
By J. C. SNAITH
An unusual and totally absorbing plot, delightfully told, and a remarkable set of characters, unmatched since Dickens.
=THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL TEACHER=
By MELVILLE DAVISSON POST
How would Christ act if He appeared in the world today? Through Mr. Post’s story of the Kentucky mountains runs an impressive allegory.
=ABBÉ PIERRE=
By JAY WILLIAM HUDSON
This charming novel of life in quaint Gascony has proved that a novel that is a work of true literary art may be a best seller of the widest popularity.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY New York London
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.