Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  She shrugged her shoulders: “But — you see? Cupidity at the last moment!”

  “Whose cupidity?” he asked coolly.

  “Mine,” she said, but he knew she was not truthful.

  “That’s all right,” he observed cheerfully—” as long as it was not your family’s.” And, still smiling, he thought of her mother adroitly blocking his way until the daughter and the merchant had concluded the bargain and patched up a broken truce.

  “It will be one of those ‘married-while-you-wait’ affairs,” she said, watching him; “traveling clothes and a few of the family. Don’t you want to come? You must come!” she added; “will you?”

  “I have an idea,” he said, with a curious stare, “that I may be present at your wedding.”

  “Good! Come with Jack Terriss and Prince Minsksky.”

  “Oh, do you already number me with the Jack Terrisses?” he drawled.

  “Certainly. Am I not pretty? Wouldn’t you kiss me if you — could? He always wants to; others have wanted to. Then I number you with the others; they were no more serious than you are.”

  “Is it they or you who are not serious?” he asked. “I think if you gave any of them the chance you have given Thorne—”

  “Yes, but I don’t love any of them. And Mr. Thorne is inevitable.”

  “I see,” said Leeds carelessly. “So I am to say to-night: ‘Much happiness!’ and other stupidities. Am I not to say all these things?”

  “Yes, if you like.”

  “But I won’t.”

  “That would be rude, wouldn’t it?” She looked up at him smiling, yet with something of concern, for he had both her hands now.

  “Do you know what I am going to do?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I am going to make love to you at once.”

  “You may; I’m engaged.”

  He listened a moment; the music rang distantly; somebody was missing a dance with the woman whose gloved hands lay in his.

  “If you are going to marry for pure cupidity, why not take me?” he asked. “Any man would do for your amiable grandfather — and it seems to be all the same to you.”

  “I did not know you well enough to ask you,” she said audaciously.

  “Would I have done as well as anybody?” he demanded.

  “Yes, as well — for me. Mother prefers the inevitable one.”

  “Would I have done better than anybody — for you?” he persisted.

  “Must I answer?”

  “Yes; you have only fibbed once to-night.”

  “Then — I’d rather — not answer. Don’t — don’t pretend to be serious. Be as frivolous as you will; make love to me if you wish — only don’t pretend.”

  “No, I won’t pretend,” he said. She looked at him; his face caught fire though he strove to speak gayly: “I never believed I should fall in love — like this — not even when I first met you. You are faultlessly beautiful, with your thick, ruddy-gold hair — the hair I painted into my picture — and I painted your splendid, innocent eyes, and that scarlet, sulky mouth — not sullen then, Naida. Had I known such things were bought and sold I should have bid—”

  “Stop,” she breathed.

  “But all I should have offered was an ordinary heart — and you say that counts nothing against — other considerations.”

  “Nothing,” she said, setting her lips.

  “It counts nothing,” he repeated, watching her.

  “Nothing — absolutely nothing. Is this how you amuse me? Is this what you call making love?”

  “Partly this,” he said, “partly” — and he deliberately and unskillfully kissed her—” partly this.”

  She rose, blushing scarlet, whisking her hands from his. He stood up to confront her, rather white.

  “You are too—” she began unsteadily.

  “What?”

  “Brutal. I have been kissed before — but not stupidly — as you did. It was almost an affront — if such a woman as I can be affronted.” Cheeks and eyes were ablaze.

  “I told you,” he said between lips almost colorless, “that I should speak the truth. I do; I love you. Can you give me a ghost of a’ chance?”

  “You are clumsy and silly,” she said. “I — I was ready for almost anything — supposing you were clever enough to carry it all off lightly—”

  “I can; I’ve kissed plenty of girls, but only one I’ve cared for — that’s why I was So awkward; I was scared to death. Why on earth did I awake at the eleventh hour to find that I loved you!”

  “You are imposing on us both,” she said calmly. “Besides, I don’t believe you’ve kissed very many girls. Jack Terriss says you have no use for them except as models.”

  “Jack’s crazy. Girls? Why, the girls I’ve kissed,” he explained blandly, “would fill that ballroom—”

  “And overflow into this conservatory,” she added, quietly curious, yet perfectly convinced now that his experience had been as limited as her own. For she had never before been kissed.

  “If you’ll let me show you—” he suggested.

  “Show me what?”

  “That I do know how to kiss a girl—”

  She looked at him, then sat up straight, stripping off her gloves. Her face was hot; she used her fan.

  He picked up one of her hands and she demurred, but he held to it with a fascinated determination that made a struggle unreasonable.

  “What is the use,” she said, “of kissing a girl who is engaged? No, I will not! I forbid you! I — please don’t do—”

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “That! You have done it twice — when I asked you not to.”

  “Was I clumsy this time?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then—”

  “No — no — no!” Hands locked, she bent backward, evading him breathlessly, yet looking into his eyes with a curiosity, a fear, and something else that no man had ever seen in her gaze — something that he saw, and which the scarlet mouth, no longer sulky, tremblingly confirmed.

  “There is a chance — a ghost of a chance!” he said, steadying his voice.

  “No — no! There is no chance — even if you did—”

  “What?”

  “Love me! No chance, no ghost of a chance. Release me — please — I beg you. Oh, won’t you listen? You — you must not put your arm around me—”

  The struggle was brief; she strained away from him desperately; and when he had her closer, she avoided his lips, hiding her face — and, as the hiding place happened to be, by some dreadful mistake, his shoulder, he drew her face upward and kissed her mouth again and again, until her head lay there quietly, eyes closed, wet lashes on her burning cheeks.

  Then he used what voice he could command in a very manly and earnest fashion; and whether she heeded or whether even she heard was uncertain, for the tears kept her lashes wet, and her hands covered her face.

  This was all very well, particularly when he drew one hand away, and her slim fingers closed convulsively over his. Between them they wrecked her delicate ivory fan, but neither seemed conscious of any loss.

  “Now will you give me a ghost of a chance?” he whispered.

  “I — I can’t—”

  “Look at me, Naida—”

  “No.”

  “You must. I love you.”

  “How can you — a girl bought — sold—”

  “I bid higher, dear.”

  “I know — my — my first kiss. You will not believe it — of a girl you kissed so easily. But it is — I have never before been kissed. But I can’t take the price; I’m sold — You had better kiss me for all the years to come.”

  He bent his head; her eyes unclosed, and, looking up at him, she put both arms around his neck. “You do love me,” he breathed.

  She only looked at him.

  “You must!”

  “I might — if there was time. How can I have time to love you?”

  “Marry me; and you shall have years of ti
me.”

  “But suppose I found I did not love you, silly?”

  “You would be no worse off than if you married the inevitable.”

  Her head lay on his shoulder; she looked at him reflectively. “Suppose,” she said, “suppose I marry neither of you — for a while — and let that wretched inheritance go!”

  “For God’s sake, let it go!” he said fiercely.

  “Give me a ghost of a chance; that is all I ask — more than I dare hope.”

  “And — if I loved you — in the remote future, would you marry a penniless girl?”

  “Will that penniless girl promise me?” he asked under his breath.

  “No!” said her mother from the glass doorway. And they both stood up.

  “The dishonorable part you have played,” continued the quivering matron, “matches your lack of the elemental decencies, and your ignorance of the ordinary observances of conventional—” Fury choked her.

  “I only desire to marry your daughter, madam.”

  “Naida!”

  “Yes, mamma.”

  She hesitated, turned to the man beside her, and looked up at him.

  “Good-by,” she said; “don’t forget.”

  Forget what, silly child? A flirt whom he had so easily kissed in a conservatory? Why, men find them everywhere — and not too difficult. Her first? Why, some man must be a coquette’s first — and in her case it happened to be Leeds.

  So she walked slowly to the door, and her mother took her arm, and she looked back at the man standing there, his hands fumbling the shreds of her broken fan.

  “Good night!” she said; and to her mother: “You hurt my arm, dear.”

  “Are you mad?” hissed that horrified matron. “Quite. I told him I was likely to do anything to-night.”

  “You have done it!”

  “I hope so, mother.”

  “Hope what?”

  “That I’ve made him love me.”

  “Merciful Heaven! What has—” She halted, turning her tall daughter to face her. “Is it champagne?” she demanded.

  “No; do I look dreadfully mussed? Oh, well — it was my first kiss, you know. One doesn’t understand how to take it coolly; I was very awkward — and fool enough to cry. My head aches. I fancy I look perfectly disreputable. Mother, will you — there he is now! — will you please keep off your Thornes and your Russians until I can escape? I will be in the dressing room — quite ready to go, mother dear.”

  “Naida,” she said, her voice trembling, “I tell you now that if you are actually in love—”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “If you are, don’t consider my — my wishes—”

  “About Mr. Thorne?”

  “About anybody — even a man disreputable enough to kiss you—”

  “Any man — to save my inheritance, mother?”

  “Any eligible man, we decided.”

  “Then it’s got to be somebody?”

  “It has, little daughter — unless we’re a pair of fools!”

  “Well, then — if it’s to be a man, I think — I think—” She turned and looked back into the long conservatories. But what she thought she did not utter, for at that moment the Russian spied her and came up palled and speechlessly fierce. And she took his arm very sweetly.

  “Now we’ll dance until daylight if you desire,” she said, heading him off in the midst of an astonished inquiry concerning her disappearance. “I think we had better have the jolliest time we can — while it lasts. Because,” she added pensively, “I may run away from everybody some day. I’m quite likely to do anything, you know; am I not, mother?”

  His alarm was so genuine that she threw back her head and laughed the most delicious and carefree laugh he had ever heard from her.

  “Ah! It is a pleasantry!” he said, inexpressibly relieved.

  “Of course,” she said gayly. “I shall keep my legacy and marry somebody — you or Thorne or somebody. Therefore, monsieur, I require sleep; therefore” — she dropped his arm and a courtesy at the same time—” adieu, monsieur.”

  “So soon, mademoiselle!”

  “None too soon, monsieur. Mother! If you are ready? The prince is waiting to make his adieus.”

  An hour later her mother kissed her good night with the humble and modest conviction that she had done well by every daughter, and had garnered every penny with which that miserable will had tantalized her so long.

  “Good night, Naida,” she said affectionately. “De Peyster is a lovable fellow. If you can’t love him you can’t love anybody.”

  “I don’t know; I’ll see how I sleep, mother.”

  “What do you mean, Naida?” she asked anxiously.

  “That’s just it — I don’t know exactly what I do mean. But I’ll know if I don’t sleep. Good night, mother. If I am not in my room in the morning you will know I have married — somebody.”

  “You — you wouldn’t do—”

  “Oh, you know I am likely to do anything! I wish I could guess what it is to be — the next thing I am destined to do.”

  She turned over in her great white bed, burying her hot cheeks in the pillow. She heard her mother leave the room; then her maid tiptoeing about, and presently the click of the electric button. She opened her eyes in darkness, and lying there fell a-thinking of the ghost of a chance a man had lost forever — or was it the man who had lost it? Was it not the maid after all?

  “Men kiss pretty women when they can,” she reasoned, raising her hands to her heated cheeks. “He meant nothing that he will not forget this time next month.... So that is how it feels to be kissed! And I sniveled.... dear me!

  “Still — if I had only had time — I could have made him love me — I think.... But artists are notoriously inconstant.... and usually very poor. If I — I could have married him, I should have felt morally obliged to bring him something. So there you are; I didn’t know he was like that or I might have hunted him up and given him a chance a year ago.... Why didn’t he take it? He — it is impossible he could suddenly love me — now — at the last moment, when it’s too late.... And I suppose it was abominable of him to have kissed me.... And he did it so frequently....

  As a matter of fact, I, lying here, am a thoroughly kissed girl.... And I’m shamelessly indifferent to his guilt and mine. So — I think I’ll sleep a little...

  But she couldn’t.

  “If I really find that I can’t sleep,” she said softly to herself, “I’m likely to do almost anything. I wonder whether he is asleep.”

  He was not; he was seated in a rather small, dark, and chilly room not half a mile uptown. Jaws set, chin on his clenched fist, looking into the hollow eyes of a ghost — the Ghost of Chance. But the ghost as yet had made no sign.

  For a while she lay there, wide-eyed, restless, face and arms flushed, her heart quickening to the rapid rush of disordered thought hurrying her onward — whither, she scarcely knew, until she found herself standing before her mirror, the electric light flooding the room once more.

  “I can’t lie there,” she said to herself; “I can’t sleep; it seems to me as if I could never sleep again.”

  The small gilt clock struck the hour — five! She considered it, turned and went to the window, and, raising the shade, looked out. The shadows of the electric lamps played quivering over the snow; nothing else stirred. She crossed the room and opened her door, listening there in the darkness. Then, treading softly, the tips of her fingers on the mahogany rail to guide her, she felt her way down the stairs, her small bare feet brushing the velvet carpet.

  There was an electric jet in the lower hall; she turned it on, groped about on the telephone shelf for the directory, and turned the leaves noiselessly until she came to the letter, L. Very carefully she traced the column of names, eyes following her moving finger, until she found what she wanted. Then she turned, unhooked the receiver, and pressed it to her ear:

  “Hello!” she almost whispered. “Please give me nine — O — three — Lenox
Hill.”

  And after a throbbing wait:

  “Is this the Lenox Club?”

  * * * *

  “Has Mr. Leeds come in yet?”

  * * * *

  “Perhaps he isn’t asleep. Please find out.... No, I can’t give my name.”

  * * * *

  “Yes; it is of great importance. If he is asleep, please wake him.”

  * * * *

  “Yes, I’ll hold the wire.”

  The receiver against her ear was trembling, but she could not control her hand.

  “Yes!... Is that you, Mr. Leeds?”

  * * * *

  “Can’t you guess who it is?”

  * * * *

  “You can’t! Do you mean to intimate that other gir — other people call you up at five o’clock in the morning!”

  * * * *

  “Of course it is I!”

  * * * *

  “Yes, Naida.”

  * * * *

  “I am at home. I could not sleep, so I thought I would find out whether you could. Besides, I wanted to know whether you stayed for the cotillon.”

  * * * *

  “But why didn’t you?”

  * * * *

  “Oh! that is very nice of you — to say that I — And haven’t you really been asleep?”

  * * * *

  “Doing what?”

  * * * *

  “Thinking of me!”

  * * * *

  “All alone in your room at this ghastly hour of the morning, thinking about me? Do you expect me to believe—”

  * * * *

  “I won’t tell you — now.”

  “Haven’t I enough to keep me awake thinking?”

  * * * *

  “No, I don’t mean that. You know perfectly well that you gave me sufficient to think about — for the rest of my days.”

  * * * *

  “Don’t say that over the ‘phone! Yes, it was the first — the very first time it had ever been — been done to me.”

  * * * *

  “No, I don’t forget anything; I never shall. What do you mean by a ghost of a chance?”

  * * * *

  “Oh! Do you truly mean that? I am so — so dreadfully happy to hear you say that—”