The Adventures of a Modest Man

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE MASTER KNOT OF HUMAN FATE

  The conversation dropped there: she gazed thoughtfully out upon theTeutonic magnificence of One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street bygaslight; he, arms folded, relapsed into bitter contemplation of thebreakfast-food. So immersed he became in the picture of an unctuouslittle boy stuffing himself to repletion under the admiring smirk of abenevolent parent that he forgot his manacles, and attempting to stretchhis cramped leg, returned to his senses in a hurry.

  "I think," she suggested, quietly, "that, if you care to stretch, Iwouldn't mind it, either. Can you do it discreetly?"

  "I'll try," he said in a whisper. "Shall I count three?"

  She nodded.

  "One, two, three," he counted, and they cautiously stretched their legs.

  "I now know how the Siamese twins felt," he said, sullenly. "No wonderthey died young."

  She laughed--a curious, little laugh which was one of the most agreeablesounds he had ever heard.

  "I take it for granted," he said, "that you will always cherish for me awholesome and natural hatred."

  "I shall never see you again," she replied, simply.

  That silenced him for a while; he fished about in his intellect to findmitigating circumstances. There was none that he knew of.

  "Suppose--under pleasanter auspices, we should some day meet?" hesuggested.

  "We never shall."

  "How do you know?"

  "It is scarcely worth while speculating upon such an improbability," shesaid, coldly.

  "But--suppose----"

  She turned toward him. "You desire to know what my attitude would betoward you?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "It would be one of absolutely amiable indifference--if you really wishto know," she said so sweetly that he was quite sure his entire bodyshrank at least an inch.

  "By the way," she added, "the last passenger has left this car."

  "By Jove!" he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "Now's our time. Wouldyou mind----"

  "With the very greatest pleasure," she said, quickly; "please count one,two, three."

  He counted; there came a discreet movement, and from under the hem ofher gown there appeared a dainty shoe, accompanied by a larger masculinecompanion. He bent down, his fingers seemed to be all thumbs, and hegrew redder and redder.

  "Perhaps I can do it," she said, stripping off her gloves and bendingover. A stray tendril of bright hair brushed his cheek as their headsalmost came together.

  "Goodness, what a dreadful knot!" she breathed, her smooth fingers busy.The perfume of her hair, her gloves, her gown thrilled him; he looked ather face, now flushed with effort; his eyes fell on her delicate hands,her distractingly pretty foot, in its small, polished shoe.

  "Patience," she said, calmly; "this knot must give way----"

  "If it doesn't----"

  "Madness lies that way," she breathed. "Wait! Don't dare to move yourfoot!"

  "We are approaching a station; shall I cut it?" he asked.

  "No--wait! I think I have solved it. There!" she cried with a breathlesslaugh. "We are free!"

  There was not an instant to lose, for the train had already stopped;they arose with one accord and hurried out into the silvery Harlemmoonlight--which does not, perhaps, differ from normal moonlight,although it seemed to him to do astonishing tricks with her hair andfigure there on the deserted platform, turning her into the loveliestand most unreal creature he had ever seen in all his life.

  "There ought to be a train pretty soon," he said cheerfully.

  She did not answer.

  "Do you mind my speaking to you now that we are----"

  "Untethered?" she said with a sudden little flurry of laughter. "Oh, no;why should I care what happens to me now, after taking a railroadjourney tied to the shoe-strings of an absent-minded stranger?"

  "Please don't speak so--so heartlessly----"

  "Heartlessly? What have hearts to do with this evening's lunacy?" sheasked, coolly.

  He had an idea, an instinctive premonition, but it was no explanation tooffer her.

  Far away up the track the starlike headlight of a train glittered: hecalled her attention to it, and she nodded. Neither spoke for a longwhile; the headlight grew larger and yellower; the vicious little traincame whizzing in, slowed, halted with a jolt. He put her aboard andfollowed into a car absolutely empty save for themselves. When they hadgravely seated themselves side by side she looked around at him and saidwithout particular severity: "I can see no reason for our going backtogether; can you?"

  "Yes," he answered with such inoffensive and guileless conviction thatshe was silent.

  He went on presently: "Monstrous as my stupidity is, monumental ass as Imust appear to you, I am, as a matter of fact, rather a decentfellow--the sort of man a girl need not flay alive to punish."

  "I do not desire to punish you. I do not expect to know you----"

  "Do you mean 'expect,' or 'desire'?"

  "I mean both, if you insist." There was a sudden glimmer in her cleareyes that warned him; but he went on:

  "I beg you to give me a chance to prove myself not such a clown as youthink me."

  "But I don't think about you at all!" she explained.

  "Won't you give me a chance?"

  "How?"

  "Somebody you--we both know--I mean to say----"

  "You mean, will I sit here and compare notes with you to find outwhether we both know Tom, Dick, and Harry? No, I will not."

  "I mean--so that--if you don't mind--somebody can vouch for me----"

  "No," she said, decisively.

  "I mean--I would be so grateful--and I admire you tremendously----"

  "Please do not say that."

  "No--I won't, of course; I don't admire anybody very much, and I didn'tdream of being offensive--only--I--now that I've known you----"

  "You don't know me," she observed, icily.

  "No, of course, I don't know you at all; I'm only talking to you----"

  "A nice comment upon us both," she observed; "could anything be morepitifully common?"

  "But being tied together, how could we avoid talking about it?" hepleaded. "When you're tied up like that to a person, it's per--permittedto speak, you know----"

  "We talked entirely too much," she said with decision. "Now we are nottied at all, and I do not see what decent excuse we can have forconversing about anything.... Do you?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "What excuse?" she asked.

  "Well, for one thing, a sense of humour. A nice spectacle we should be,you in one otherwise empty car, I in another, bored to death----"

  "Do you think," she said, impatiently, "that I require anybody's societyto save myself from _ennui_?"

  "No--but I require----"

  "That is impertinent!"

  "I didn't mean to be; you must know that!" he said.

  She looked out of the window.

  "I wonder," he began in a cheerful and speculative tone, taking couragefrom her silence--"I wonder whether you know----"

  "I will not discuss people I know with you," she said.

  "Then let us discuss people I know," he rejoined, amiably.

  "Please don't."

  "Please let me----"

  "No."

  "Are you never going to forgive me?" he asked.

  "I shall forget," she said, meaningly.

  "Me?"

  "Certainly."

  "Please don't----"

  "You are always lingering dangerously close to the border ofimpertinence," she said. "I do not wish to be rude or ungracious. I havebeen unpardonably annoyed, and--when I consider my present falsesituation--I am annoyed still more. Let me be unmistakably clear andconcise; I do not feel any--anger--toward you; I have no feelingwhatever toward you; and I do not ever expect to see you again. Let itrest so. I will drop you my best curtsey when you lift your hat to me atTwenty-ninth Street. Can a guilty man ask more?"

  "Your punishment is severe," he said, flushing.
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  "My punishment? Who am I punishing, if you please?"

  "Me."

  "What folly! I entertain no human emotions toward you; I have no desireto punish you. How could I punish you--if I wished to?"

  "By doing what you are doing."

  "And what is that?" she asked rather softly.

  "Denying me any hope of ever knowing you."

  "You are unfair," she said, biting her lip. "I do not deny you that'hope,' as you choose to call it. Consider a moment. Had you merely seenme on the train you could not have either hoped or even desired ever toknow me. Suppose for a moment--" she flushed, but her voice was cool andcomposed "suppose you were attracted to me--thought me agreeable to lookat? You surely would never have dreamed of speaking to me and askingsuch a thing. Why, then, should you take unfair advantage of an accidentand ask it now? You have no right to--nor have I to accord you what yousay you desire."

  She spoke very sweetly, meeting his eyes without hesitation.

  "May I reply to you?" he asked soberly.

  "Yes--if you wish."

  "You will not take it as an affront?"

  "Not--not if--" She looked at him. "No," she said.

  "Then this is my reply: Wherever I might have seen you I shouldinstantly have desired to know you. That desire would have caused you noinquietude; I should have remained near you without offense, perfectlycertain in my own mind that somehow and somewhere I must manage to knowyou; and to that end--always without offense, and without yourknowledge--I should have left the train when you did, satisfied myselfwhere you lived, and then I should have scoured the city, and movedheaven and earth to find the proper person who might properly ask yourpermission to receive me. That is what I should have done if I hadremained thirty seconds in the same car with you.... Are you offended?"

  "No," she said.

  They journeyed on for some time, saying nothing; she, young face bent,sensitive lips adroop, perhaps considering what he said; he, cradlinghis golf-sticks, trying to keep his eyes off her and succeeding verybadly.

  "I wonder what your name is?" she said, looking up at him.

  "James Seabury," he replied so quickly that it was almost pathetic.

  She mused, frowning a little: "Where have I heard your name?" she askedwith an absent-minded glance at him.

  "Oh--er--around, I suppose," he suggested, vaguely.

  "But I have heard it. Are you famous?"

  "Oh, no," he said quickly. "I'm an architect, or ought to be. Fact is,I'm so confoundedly busy golfing and sailing and fishing and shootingand hunting that I have very little time for business."

  "What a confession!" she exclaimed, laughing outright; and the beautythat transfigured her took his breath away. But her laughter was brief,her eyes grew more serious than ever: "So you are not in business?"

  "No."

  "I am employed," she said calmly, looking at him.

  "Are you?" he said, astonished.

  "So, you see," she added gaily, "I should have very little time to seeanybody----"

  "You mean me?"

  "Yes, you, for example."

  "You don't work all the while, do you?" he asked.

  "Usually."

  "All the time?"

  "I dine--at intervals."

  "That's the very thing!" he said with enthusiasm.

  She looked at him gravely.

  "Don't you see," he went on, "as soon as you'll let me know you mysister will call, and then you'll call, and then my sister willinvite----"

  She was suddenly laughing again--a curious laugh, quite free andunguarded.

  "Of course, you'll tell your sister how we met," she suggested; "she'llbe so anxious to know me when she hears all about it."

  "Do you suppose," he said coolly, "that I don't know one of my own sortwhenever or however I happen to meet her?"

  "Men cannot always tell; I grant you women seldom fail in placing oneanother at first glance; but men rarely possess that instinct....Besides, I tell you I am employed."

  "What of it? Even if you wore the exceedingly ornamental uniform of aparlor-maid it could not worry me."

  "Do you think your sister would hasten to call on a saleswoman atBlumenshine's?" she asked carelessly.

  "Nobody wants her to," he retorted, amused.

  "Or on a parlor-maid--for example?"

  "Let her see you first; you can't shock her after that.... Are you?" heinquired gently--so gently, so pleasantly, that she gave him a swiftlook that set his heart galloping.

  "Do you really desire to know me?" she asked. But before he could answershe sprang up, saying: "Good gracious! This is Twenty-eighth Street! Itseems impossible!"

  He could not believe it, either, but he fled after her, suit-case andgolf-bag swinging; the gates slammed, they descended the stairs andemerged on Twenty-eighth Street. "I live on Twenty-ninth Street," shesaid; "shall we say good-bye here?"

  "I should think not!" he replied with a scornful decision that amazedher, but, curiously enough, did not offend her. They walked upTwenty-eighth Street to Fifth Avenue, crossed, turned north under thewhite flare of electricity, then entered Twenty-ninth Street slowly,side by side, saying nothing.