The Beauty and the Bolshevist
Page 4
people you despise--they make women, at least, for we must havepartners--"
"But why do you go, then?"
She was silent, and they looked straight and long at each other. Thenshe said, gravely:
"The answer's very humiliating. I go because I haven't anything elseto do."
He did not reassure her. "Yes, that's bad," he said, after a second."But of course you could not expect to have anything else to do whenall your time is taken up like that. 'When the half gods go,' youknow, 'the gods arrive.'"
The quotation was not new to Crystal; in fact, she had quoted it toEddie not very long before, apropos of another girl to whom he hadshown a mild attention, but it seemed to her as if she took in for thefirst time its real meaning. Whether it was the dawn, exhaustion, astimulating personality, love, or mere accident, the words now cameto her with all the beauty and truth of a religious conviction. Theyseemed to shake her and make her over. She felt as if she could neverbe sufficiently grateful to the person who had thus made all lifefresh and new to her.
"Ah," she said, very gently, "that's it. I see. You won't believe me,but I assure you from now on I mean to be entirely different."
"Please, not too different."
"Oh yes, yes, as different as possible. I've been so unhappy, andunhappy about nothing definite--that's the worst kind, only that Ihave not liked the life I was leading."
She glanced at him appealingly. She had tried to tell this simplestory to so many people, for she had many friends, and yet no one hadever really understood. Some had told her she was spoiled, more, thatthere was no use in trying to change her life because she would soonmarry; most of them had advised her to marry and find out what realtrouble was. Now, as she spoke she saw that this strange young manfrom the sea not only understood her discontent, but thought itnatural, almost commonplace.
She poured it all out. "Only the worst thing," she ended, "is that I'mnot really any good. There isn't anything else that I know how to do."
"I doubt that," he answered, and she began to doubt it, too. "I'm surethere are lots of things you could do if you put your mind on it. Didyou ever try to write?"
Now, indeed, she felt sure that he was gifted with powers morethan mortal--to have guessed this secret which no one else had eversuspected. She colored deeply.
"Why, yes," she answered, "I think I can--a little, only I've solittle education."
"So little education?"
"Yes, I belong to the cultivated classes--three languages and nothingsolid."
"Well, you know, three languages seem pretty solid to me," said Ben,who had wrestled very unsuccessfully with the French tongue. "Youspeak three languages, and let me see, you know a good deal aboutpainting and poetry and jade and Chinese porcelains?"
She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "Oh, of course everyoneknows about those things, but what good are they?"
They were a good deal of good to Ben. He pressed on toward his finalgoal. "What is your attitude toward fairies?" he asked, and MissCox would have heard in his tone a faint memory of his voice when heengaged a new office-boy.
Her attitude toward fairies was perfectly satisfactory, and he showedso much appreciation that she went on and told him her great secretin full. She had once had something published and been paid money forit--fifteen dollars--and probably never in her life had she spoken ofany sum with so much respect. It had been, well, a sort of a review ofa new illustrated edition of Hans Andersen's Tales, treating them asif they were modern stories, commenting on them from the point ofview of morals and probability--making fun of people who couldn't givethemselves up to the charm of a story unless it tallied with their ownhorrid little experiences of life. She told it, she said, very badly,but perhaps he could get the idea.
He got it perfectly. "Good," he said. "I'll give you a job. I'm anewspaper editor."
"Oh," she exclaimed, "you're not Mr. Munsey, are you, or Mr. Reid, orMr. Ochs?"
Her knowledge of newspaper owners seemed to come to a sudden end.
"No," he answered, smiling, "nor even Mr. Hearst. I did not say Iowned a newspaper. I edit it. I need some one just like you for mybook page, only you'd have to come to New York and work hard, andthere wouldn't be very much salary. Can you work?"
"Anyone can."
"Well, will you?"
"Indeed I will." (It was a vow.) "And now I must go. I have to drivemyself home in an open car, and the tourists do stare at one so--infancy dress."
"Yes, but when am I to see you again? I leave Newport to-night."
"Telephone me--2079--and we'll arrange to do something thisafternoon."
"And whom shall I ask for?"
"Telephone at two-fifteen to the minute, and I'll answer the telephonemyself."
She evidently rather enjoyed the mystery of their not knowing eachother's names. But a black idea occurred to Ben. She had slid off theraft and swum a few strokes before he shouted to her:
"Look here. Your name isn't Eugenia, is it?"
She waved her hand. "No, I'm Crystal," she called back.
"Good-by, Crystal."
This time she did not wave, but, swimming on her side with long, easystrokes, she gave him a sweet, reassuring look.
After she had gone he lay down on the raft with his face buried in hisarms. A few moments before he had thought he could never see enough ofthe sunrise and the sea, but now he wanted to shut it out in favor ofa much finer spectacle within him. So this was love. Strange that noone had ever been able to prepare you for it. Strange that poets hadnever been able to give you a hint of its stupendous inevitability. Hewondered if all miracles were like that--so simple--so--
Suddenly he heard her voice near him. He lifted his head from hisarms. She was there in the water below him, clinging to the raft withone hand.
"I just came back to tell you something," she said. "I thought youought to know it before things went any farther."
He thought, "Good God! she's in love with some one else!" and thehorror of the idea made him look at her severely.
"I'm not perhaps just as I seem--I mean my views are rather liberal.In fact"--she brought it out with an effort--"I'm almost a socialist."
The relief was so great that Ben couldn't speak. He bent his head andkissed the hand that had tempted him a few hours before.
She did not resent his action. Her special technique in such matterswas to pretend that such little incidents hardly came into the realmof her consciousness. She said, "At two-fifteen, then," and swam awayfor good.
Later in the day a gentleman who owned both a bathing house and abathing suit on Bailey's beach was showing the latter possession to agroup of friends.
"No one can tell me that Newport isn't damp," he said. "I haven't beenin bathing for twenty-four hours, and yet I can actually wring thewater out of my suit."