Part 3

“What are you doing here?” he demanded with friendly severity as he came forward. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

At sound of his voice her drooping form straightened ecstatically. At sight of him, looking more tremendous than ever in the big waterproofs, she gave a smile like a sunburst. “You’re _frightfully_ late!” she reproached.

“Late! We can’t work to-day.”

“You didn’t tell me not to come if it rained,” said she, with a convincing air of innocence. “And--I didn’t want to lose a day’s pay.”

He was still frowning. “I came very near not coming at all,” said he. “It was by the merest accident that I took my walk in this direction.”

“But--you did,” said she slyly.

“Why not?” was his carefully careless reply. “I walk, rain or shine.”

“I don’t mind rain, either--when I’m prepared for it,” said she cheerfully. “You don’t know how fascinating canoeing in the rain is.”

But he was not convinced. He stood staring gloomily out over the lake, as if he were seeing formidable enemies approaching under cover of the thick, blue mist. “I’ve got to go in a few minutes,” said he almost curtly. “I’ve arranged for a trip to town, as I can’t work to-day.”

“To sell a picture?”

“I haven’t any. Those from the other side aren’t here yet. Anyhow, I’m going to show only American work.”

A long pause--an uncomfortable pause. Then she said in her artless, impersonal way: “I should think a wife would be of great assistance to an artist----”

“As a roper-in, you mean?” he interrupted fiercely. “No real painter would stoop to anything so degrading to his art and to himself.”

“Yet you’ve told me of all sorts of queer schemes you’ve put up to lure in buyers,” she said.

“An artist who marries is a fool--and worse,” said he sourly. “If he’s happily married his imagination is smothered to death. If he’s unhappily married it’s stabbed to death.”

She listened sweetly and patiently. “The subject of marriage is on my mind to-day,” said she with confiding and childlike innocence.

“It usually is on the minds of young girls,” said he, big and frowning.

“But my--my affairs are near the crisis,” proceeded she. “And one reason I came through the rain was that I wanted your advice.”

He shook his big frame, making the water fly as from the fur of a great, shaggy dog that has been in swimming. “I don’t give advice,” said he ungraciously. “When you give advice you make yourself responsible for the consequences. Besides, I don’t know enough about you to be able to judge.”

Her look up at him was the essence of implicit trust. “You know more about me than anyone in the world--more than I know myself.”

He laughed shortly. “I know nothing about you. Girls are not in my line.”

Her pretty face, the prettier for the dreariness all round, now took on an expression of hurt feelings. “What’s the matter, Chang?” she asked gently. “You’re not a bit friendly to-day.”

His face could not but soften before this sweet appeal. He said in a kindlier tone: “I think you ought to go home. I’m sure you’ll catch cold.”

She looked immensely relieved. “Oh, that’s why you’re cross, is it?” said she gayly. “Don’t worry about me, Chang. I’m as dry and snug as can be. Now, do be kind to me. I don’t see how I’m going to marry Pete--that is, this man. He’s a nice fellow--good-looking--has everything I want--but-- Ye gods! He’s such a rotter!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a man--or woman, for there are lots and lots of female rotters--it’s a person who--well, you always know just what they are going to do before they do it, and just what they’re going to say before they say it.”

“That sounds like good marrying material. You know, you don’t want surprises in married life.”

“Chang, how _can_ I live through it?” she cried despondently.

“You say you’ve got lots of tastes, all expensive. So--marry him.”

“He’s really very good-looking,” pursued Rix, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. “And he dresses beautifully--has everything just right. There isn’t a thing against him--except--” And there she halted, as if she were not quite certain whether after all there was a positive objection to the man.

“Except--what?” inquired he, impatient at the long pause at the most exciting point in the recital.

She secretly delighted in the success of her ruse. But she said plaintively: “Oh, you’re not interested. You’re not listening.”

“I’m sure you’re catching a hideous cold. Of all the absurd, silly performances----”

“Now, don’t lecture on health. I simply can’t stand it. As I was about to say when you interrupted me----”

“I didn’t interrupt you,” protested he.

“Not paying attention is interrupting,” said she. “Anyhow, you’re interrupting now. What I want to say is, the only thing against him is that I don’t love him.”

This seemed to cheer the big, dark, young man. With a certain gayety he replied: “But you soon will. You’ve been well brought up, haven’t you? Well, that means you are--just girl--ready to be whatever your husband chooses to make of you.”

“That’s true of most girls, Chang”--he winced each time she gave him that name--“but it isn’t true of me--at least, not any more. You’ve put all sorts of ideas into my head.”

He started back in dismay before her accusing, reproachful face, so sad, so serious. “_I?_ Put ideas into your head? Why, you were buzzing and boiling with ’em the first time I saw you.”

“But they didn’t amount to anything until you----”

“That’s like a woman!” he exclaimed indignantly. “Trying to shift responsibility to some one else.”

“But you have a tremendous influence over me.”

“Rubbish! Have I ever tried to get influence over you?”

“I don’t know how you got it,” was her maddeningly feminine evasion.

He gave a kind of snort. “Next thing you’ll be accusing me of advising you not to marry this rich man you’re engaged to.”

“Not quite engaged,” corrected she. “He wants me to be. And,” she went on with meek obstinacy, “while you didn’t advise me against it in so many words----”

“Now, Rix,” he almost shouted, pointing his finger at her, “you stop right there!”

“Please, Chang--come in out of the rain. And don’t talk so loud; it makes me nervous. I’m almost hysterical as it is.”

He looked at her in terror. All that would be needed completely to upset him would be for her to have hysterics. He moved nearer her, went on in a soothing, persuasive tone: “I advised you to marry him. I showed you it’s the only thing for you to do.”

“And such talk was unworthy of you,” said she, like a rebuking angel. “You didn’t really mean it. You know _you_ wouldn’t stoop to do such a thing yourself.”

His frank countenance had quite a wild look, so agitated and confused was he by her swift twistings and turnings, so alarmed was he as he felt the awful danger approaching. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and your affairs--or, rather, _you_ are talking about them. Keep _me_ out of this.”

“But how can I?” argued she gently, looking admiringly up at him. “You’ve become the big influence in my life. If I had known you earlier I’d have been very different. Even now I feel as if a great change were coming over me----”

“It’s the cold you’re catching,” interrupted he, in desperate attempt to be jocose and create a diversion. “You must go straight home.”

“Chang,” she said, laying her hand on his arm, “if you were rich, instead of poor, would you talk to me like this?”

“Now, Rix--stop that nonsense.”

“Don’t, Chang,” she pleaded. “You realize, just as well as I do, that we’ve made a frightful mistake.”

He did not venture an answer.

“You knew it as soon as you saw me this morning--didn’t you?” continued she. “Yes, I saw it in your eyes. I felt it in your----”

He suddenly seized her by both shoulders, looked into her eyes searchingly. “This isn’t a bit like you, Rix. What are you up to?”

She simply gazed at him--a gaze he found it hard to withstand; yet he could not shift his charmed eyes.

“You’re trying to lead me on. Why?” he demanded.

“Because we love each other, Chang,” she said as simply and sweetly as a child.

He laughed gently. “What a romancer you are! Fortunately, I’m a man. I don’t take advantage of a baby.”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“And as ignorant of the world as a baby,” declared he, like grandfather to grandchild.

“I know what I want when I see it, just as well as you do, Chang,” she replied steadily. “Better--because you’re making me do all the talking--which isn’t gentlemanly of you.” Her eyes filled with tears--and very lovely they looked--like dew-drenched violets. “If it wasn’t that you’re holding back simply because you’re poor I’d not forgive you so easily.”

He dropped his hands from her shoulders, turned away abruptly. He strode to the edge of the lake and debated with himself. When he came back to her he was serene though grave. At sight of his expression, which she had eagerly awaited, she shivered. “Rix,” he said--and all the fine frankness and simplicity of his nature were in his eyes and his voice--“it’s lucky for you that I’ve lived a little, or we might be dragging each other into a fearful mess. You think you’ve fallen in love--don’t you?”

“I know it, Chang,” she answered, undaunted.

“Well, I know you haven’t fallen in love with me. You’ve simply fallen in love with love. Your imagination has been giddied by this little adventure that seems so romantic to you. And the day’ll come when you’ll thank me for having had the sense to understand you and to understand that my own strong liking for you isn’t love, either.”

“It’s what _I_ call love,” said she, a solemn, wistful look in the eyes she fixed on him. “Don’t you miss me and think of me all the time when we aren’t together--just as I do? Don’t you come earlier and earlier--just as I do? Didn’t you fight against coming in the rain to-day, just as I did? Weren’t you dreadfully afraid you’d be disappointed, just as I was? And didn’t you simply _have_ to come----”

He suddenly lost his temper. “This is too exasperating!” he cried. “I’ve done wrong to let you come here. I was innocent enough in it----”

“You couldn’t have kept me away,” she interrupted with a kind of childish glee. “The mischief was done the first day--over the chocolate. Wasn’t it, Chang?--honestly, wasn’t it?”

“You’re a nice little girl, but----”

She cut him off again: “If you knew how I fought that evening and night and all the next day and night--and how early I started out to find you. Had you begun to hunt for me?”

“No,” said he, more curt than convincing.

“Then what were you thinking about--that first morning down by the waterfall?”

He flushed guiltily. Very poor, indeed, at all kinds of deception was Chang--except, possibly, self-deception.

“I watched you for half an hour. You were sketching a face, Chang--instead of the waterfall. Whose face was it?”

“Yours,” he admitted, as if the matter were of no consequence. With a smile of patient indulgence he went on: “Oh, if you’d had experience! But you haven’t. That’s why you’re carrying on like this. Now, listen to me, child----”

“I like Rix better,” she interposed.

“No matter,” he said, with a gesture of impatient brushing away. “I don’t love you. I won’t marry you. And you’ve got to stop proposing to me. I never heard of such vanity! What would people think of you?”

“You’ve taught me not to mind what people think. You said you despised----”

“No matter what I said! What will you think of yourself? What will _I_ think of you?”

“Why, that I love you,” said she sweetly.

He looked hopelessly at her, threw out his arms in a gesture of despair. “A baby--just a baby. Go home and grow up!” he cried, and strode swiftly away with a great swashing of the skirts of his long coat and a great swishing of the disturbed undergrowth of the wilderness.

III

A LESSON IN WOMAN

Toward four the next afternoon Wade, at the studio, heard a knock on the door. He recognized it so promptly that one might almost have suspected he had been expecting it--or, would hoping for it be a more exactly accurate phrase? By way of answer he tiptoed across the floor, rested his full weight against the door, as there was no bolt, indeed no fastening of any kind but the unused outside bar and padlock. If that assault was to be repelled he must rely wholly upon his own unaided strength. He was not content with resting his weight; he braced himself and pushed.

The knock came again--right between his shoulder-blades with only the inch plank between.

It was as if those pretty knuckles of hers were tapping him on the back, on the spinal cord, which, as everyone knows, immediately radiates sensation to all parts of even such a huge body as was Chang’s. He grew quite pale, then an absurdly boyish red. He muttered something that sounded like “damn fool”--and it certainly must have been addressed to himself.

The knock came the third time, quickly--a triumphant knock, seeming to say, “So you’re in there, are you? Well, surrender at once!”

He wondered how she had found out, for he certainly had made no sound she could have heard. With the fourth and most vigorous knock he discovered the secret. He noted that his body against the door made the knock sound differently. He hastily lifted himself away, put his hands against the door high up above where she, merely a person of medium height, and woman’s medium height at that, could reach. When she knocked again he felt absurd. For the sound, hollow once more, must reveal to her that there was indeed some change of conditions within, proving beyond doubt the presence of some intelligent--or, at least, brain-using--being.

His poor opinion of himself and his fear of her sagacity were forthwith justified. “It’s only I,” she called. “So you can open.”

The impudence! As if he were eager to see her, would instantly open for her! Why, she was positively brazen, this sweet, innocent young girl. No--that was unjust. Just because she was innocent she did these outlandish, outrageous things. Yet how could a girl of twenty-two, out four years, extremely intelligent--how could she be thus unaware of what was proper and modest for a young woman dealing with a bachelor? How could she venture upon--no, not merely venture upon, but boldly tackle, grapple with--the subject which the maiden should never so much as hint until the man has forced it upon her? “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “She’s some queer mixture of craft and innocence. And where the one begins and the other ends I’m blessed if I know. There’s some mystery in this. She’s got some notion--some false notion--or something--Heaven knows what. All I know is, she’s got to stop hounding me--and she’s not going to get in.”

As if she had heard these angry but cautious undertones she said: “Now, Chang, don’t be a silly. I know you’re against the other side of the door. I could tell by the way the knocks sounded. Besides, I’ve just peeped through the crack underneath and I saw your big feet.”

Then he did feel like an ass! Caught holding a door, like a ten-year-old boy--he, a great, huge, grown man, no less than thirty-two years old! Still, of the two absurd courses open to him--to let her in and to continue to bar her out--the less absurd was the latter. To face her with a red and sheepish countenance--to face her mocking smile--that was not to be thought of.

“Don’t be afraid, Chang,” she scoffed. “I haven’t got a clergyman with me.”

“Run along home, you foolish child,” he cried. “I’m busy and mustn’t be interrupted.”

“I must see you--for just a minute,” she pleaded--the kind of pleading that is command. “Don’t be so vain. Don’t take yourself so seriously.”

That voice of hers--it sounded sanely humorous. And he certainly was putting himself in the position of having egotistically believed to the uttermost her remarks of yesterday, which were probably nothing but a fantastic mood. But he simply could not open that door and face her plump off. He made three or four steps away from it on tiptoe, then walked heavily, calling out in a tone of gruff indifference: “Come on! But don’t forget I’m busy.” Luckily he happened to glance at the picture; he had just time hastily to fling a drape over it. He went to the fireplace and busied himself with the fire--for the day after the heavy rain was of an almost winter coolness. He heard the door open and close.

“Your manners are simply shocking,” came in her voice.

He turned round to face her. No, she was not in the least abashed, as one would have expected her to be on seeing him for the first time after her proposal. What did it mean? What was in that industrious, agile mind? She was much better dressed than she had been as his model. She was wearing a most becoming gray gown with a small, gray walking hat to match. Yes, she looked prettier, more ladylike, but--

“How do you like my new suit?” asked she.

“Very good,” replied he. “But while you’ve gained something, you’ve lost more.”

“I know it,” admitted she. “I saw it the instant I looked at myself in the glass, and I’ve felt it all the way here. I’ve lost what you like best in me. That is, I’ve not exactly lost it, but covered it up. But it’s still here.” This last in a tone gay with enjoyment in teasing him.

He stood with his back to the fire, and waited. She came slowly toward him, halting at every second step. Her smile was mysterious--and disquieting. It was a mocking smile, yet behind it there lurked--what? _What_ was the mystery of that proposal?

“Well, I suppose you’ll be satisfied now,” said she. “I’m engaged.”

“I don’t care anything about it,” declared he. “Let’s talk of something else.”

They were facing each other now, not many steps apart; and the sight of her, in such high good humor, made it simply impossible for him to remain grumpy, or to pretend that he was. She went on: “I did it this morning--instead of coming to pose for you. I hope I didn’t put you out too much. I couldn’t think of any way to send you word.”

“I wasn’t there,” said he. “I can finish the picture up here.”

“Then you don’t need me any more?” inquired she. And the little hands she was stretching out to the blaze dropped pathetically to her side and up went her face to gaze into his mournfully.

“I’ve done with models in America!” said he, laughing--not in very mirthful fashion, however.

Her eyes--they were innocent to-day--remained serious. “I don’t see why you were upset by what I said,” observed she reflectively, warming her palms. “You can’t have had much experience with women or you’d not have been.”

It was a notable proof of Chang’s fundamental simplicity of character that this usually sure thrust at masculine vanity did not reach him, though he was only thirty-two. “You’re not a woman,” replied he. “You’re a girl--a child--a stray from the nursery.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m a woman. You’ve made me a woman.”

“There you go again!” cried he. “Blaming me!”

“Thanking you!” corrected she gently. “But please don’t get excited about--yesterday. How can we be friends if you begin to fuss and fume every time you think of it? Really, I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.”

He dropped into a chair and laughed heartily.

“I simply proposed to you,” said she.

“So you think it is ordinary for a girl to propose to a man--and to insist on it, in spite of his protests? Well--maybe it is--in America.”

“I don’t know,” said she reflectively. “I never did it before.”

“Really?”

“No,” she answered him unsmilingly. “But I’m sure I’ll do it again--if I feel like it.”

“I wouldn’t--if I were you. The next man might misunderstand.”

“_You_ didn’t?” The gray eyes were not interrogative, but affirmative.

“Certainly not. I’m not so vain; and, besides, I knew you.”

“That had a great deal to do with it--I mean, the fact that we knew each other so well. I shouldn’t, of course, do such a thing to a perfect stranger.” There was no suggestion of irony, of any kind of humor, in her voice. But he felt uneasy. She proceeded tranquilly: “I suppose any girl would--in the same circumstances--any sensible girl.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” confessed he. What did she mean by “in the same circumstances”? There seemed a chance to penetrate into the mystery, but he would venture no questions. He contented himself with repeating: “No, I never heard of it.”

“Naturally,” observed she. “A girl wouldn’t tell it afterwards--and the man couldn’t--if he were a gentleman. I’m sure if anyone ever asks me whether I ever proposed to a man I’ll say no. And, in a way, it is true. Really, you were the one that proposed to me.” She nodded slowly. “Really, it was you.”

“I?” he exclaimed in derision.

“Yes, you,” she affirmed, meeting his gaze gravely.

His eyes wavered; he confusedly sought and lit a cigarette.

“Of course,” pursued she, “I never could have done such a thing if I hadn’t known it would be--agreeable.”

That word agreeable struck him as being a peculiarly happy choice. He chuckled. Her smile showed that she herself regarded it as a rhetorical triumph. “You’ll have a chocolate--won’t you?” said he.

“Thank you,” she accepted, with eager gratitude. “Won’t you let me make it?”

He was already busy. “I can’t have you mussing in my closet,” he laughed. “Though, Heaven knows, I feel as if you were at home here.” It slipped out, before he realized what he was saying. He hoped she had not heard.

But she had. “That’s it!” cried she. “_Don’t_ we feel at home and at ease with each other! I never felt that way with anybody in my life before. And I’ve an instinct that you never did, either--never so much so.... What’s the matter?”

He had turned in the closet doorway, was gazing gloomily at her, and, being so big and so dark, his gloom was indeed somber--suggested the darkness of an enchanted forest. “After all my resolutions!” he exclaimed, with bitterness of self-reproach. He shut the closet. “No chocolate,” he said firmly. “You must go home and let me work.”

“Why, what are you afraid of?” cried she, an angry light in her eyes. “You told me yesterday you wouldn’t have me. And now I’m engaged.”

“You must go.”

She stamped her foot, and in poise of head, in curve of brow and lip showed for the first time the imperiousness she had told him about. “If I didn’t like you so well!” she cried. “Do be sensible. You’re always calling me a baby. It’s you that are the baby.”

“I think so, myself,” said he, the more quietly but also the more strongly for her threatening outburst of temper. “Listen to me, Rix. This nonsense has got to stop. We’re going to keep away from each other. We’re not in love--and we’re not going to put ourselves in the way of temptation.” He looked reproachfully at her. “Why in thunder did you have to go and spoil everything with that chatter of yours yesterday? We were getting along beautifully, and the idea of you as a girl in the ordinary sense never had entered my head.”

“You didn’t understand yourself,” said she. “Women are wiser about those things than men--the most foolish women than the wisest men. Besides, if you knew the circumstances as I know them, you’d not attach so much importance to what was perfectly natural.”

He puzzled for an instant with this second mysterious reference to the “circumstance,” dismissed it. “Anyhow, the milk’s spilled,” said he with determination. “And you must go and not come back.”

“But now that I’m engaged----”

“Engaged be hanged!” exclaimed he violently. “I’m not as stupid as you think. Can’t I see that you’re up to the same tricks as yesterday? What do you mean by it? What’s going on in the back of your head? No--never mind. I don’t want to know. I want you to go.”

She sat on the long, low bench and began to cry. “You’re brutal to me,” she sobbed. “Here I went and got engaged just to oblige you and so that we could be friends. And now you won’t be friends!”