the price she paid-第31部分

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　never　to　sleep；　seemed　the　ceaselessly　industrious　servants　of　a　brain　that　busied　itself　without　pause。　　The　contrast　between　the　dead　white　calm　of　his　face；　the　listlessness　of　his　relaxed　figure；　and　these　vivid　eyes；　so　intensely　alive；　gave　to　Donald　Keith's　personality　an　uncanniness　that　was　most　disagreeable　to　Mildred。

‘‘That's　what　fascinates　me；''　said　Cyrilla；　when　they　were　discussing　him　one　day。

‘‘Fascinates！''　exclaimed　Mildred。　　‘‘He's　tiresome　when　he　isn't　rude。''

‘‘Rude？''

‘‘Not　actively　rude　but；　worse　still；　passively　rude。''

‘‘He　is　the　only　man　I've　ever　seen　with　whom　I　could　imagine　myself　falling　in　love；''　said　Mrs。　Brindley。

Mildred　laughed　in　derision。　　‘‘Why；　he's　a　dead　man！''　cried　she。

‘‘You　don't　understand；''　said　Cyrilla。　　‘‘You've　never　lived　with　a　man。''　　She　forgot　completely；　as　did　Mildred　herself；　so　completely　had　Mrs。　Siddall　returned　to　the　modes　and　thoughts　of　a　girl。　　‘‘At　hometo　live　withyou　want　only　reposeful　things。　　That　is　why　the　Greeks；　whose　instincts　were　unerring；　had　so　much　reposeful　statuary。　　One　grows　weary　of　agitating　objects。　　They　soon　seem　hysterical　and　shallow。　The　same　thing's　true　of　persons。　　For　permanent　love　and　friendship　you　want　reposeful　men　calm；　strong；　silent。　　The　other　kind　either　wear　you　out　or　wear　themselves　out　with　you。''

‘‘You　forget　his　eyes；''　put　in　Stanley。　　‘‘Did　you　ever　see　such　eyes！''

‘‘Yes；　those　eyes　of　his！''　cried　Mildred。　　‘‘You　certainly　can't　call　them　reposeful；　Mrs。　Brindley。''

Mrs。　Brindley　did　not　seize　the　opportunity　to　convict　her　of　inconsistency。　　Said　she：

‘‘I　admit　the　eyes。　　They're　the　eyes　of　the　kind　of　man　a　woman　wants；　or　another　man　wants　in　his　friend。　When　Keith　looks　at　you；　you　feel　that　you　are　seeing　the　rarest　being　in　the　worldan　absolutely　reliable　person。　　When　I　think　of　him　I　think　of　reliable；　just　as　when　you　think　of　the　sun　you　think　of　brightness。''

‘‘I　had　no　idea　it　was　so　serious　as　this；''　teased　Stanley。

‘‘Nor　had　I；''　returned　Cyrilla　easily；　‘‘until　I　began　to　talk　about　him。　　Don't　tell　him；　Mr。　Baird；　or　he　might　take　advantage　of　me。''

The　idea　amused　Stanley。　　‘‘He　doesn't　care　a　rap　about　women；''　said　he。　　‘‘I　hear　he　has　let　a　few　care　about　him　from　time　to　time；　but　he　soon　ceased　to　be　good…natured。　　He　hates　to　be　bored。''

As　he　came　just　then；　they　had　to　find　another　subject。　　Mildred　observed　him　with　more　interest。　　She　had　learned　to　have　respect　for　Mrs。　Brindley's　judgments。　　But　she　soon　gave　over　watching　him。　　That　profound　calm；　those　eyes　concentrating　all　the　life　of　the　man　like　a　burning　glass　　She　had　a　disagreeable　sense　of　being　seen　through；　even　to　her　secretest　thought；　of　being　understood　and　measured　and　weighed　and　found　wanting。　　It　occurred　to　her　for　the　first　time　that　part　of　the　reason　for　her　not　liking　him　was　the　best　of　reasonsthat　he　did　not　like　her。

The　first　time　she　was　left　alone　with　him；　after　this　discovery；　she　happened　to　be　in　an　audacious　and　talkative　mood；　and　his　lack　of　response　finally　goaded　her　into　saying：　　‘‘WHY　don't　you　like　me？''　　She　cared　nothing　about　it；　she　simply　wished　to　hear　what　he　would　sayif　he　could　be　roused　into　saying　anything。　He　was　sitting　on　the　steps　leading　from　the　veranda　to　the　seawas　smoking　a　cigarette　and　gazing　out　over　the　waves　like　a　graven　image；　as　if　he　had　always　been　posed　there　and　always　would　be　there；　the　embodiment　of　repose　gazing　in　ineffable　indifference　upon　the　embodiment　of　its　opposite。　　He　made　no　answer。

‘‘I　asked　you　why　you　do　not　like　me；''　said　she。　‘‘Did　you　hear？''

‘‘Yes；''　replied　he。

She　waited；　nothing　further　from　him。　　Said　she：

‘‘Well；　give　me　one　of　your　cigarettes。''

He　rose；　extended　his　case；　then　a　light。　　He　was　never　remiss　in　those　kinds　of　politeness。　　When　she　was　smoking；　he　seated　himself　again　and　dropped　into　the　former　attitude。　　She　eyed　him；　wondering　how　it　could　be　possible　that　he　had　endured　the　incredible　fatigues　and　hardships　Stanley　Baird　had　related　of　himhunting　and　exploring　expeditions　into　tropics　and　into　frozen　regions；　mountain　climbs；　wild　sea　voyages　in　small　boats；　all　with　no　sign　of　being　able　to　stand　anything；　yet　also　with　no　sign　of　being　any　more　disturbed　than　now　in　this　seaside　laziness。　　Stanley　had　showed　them　a　picture　of　him　taken　twenty　years　and　more　ago　when　he　was　in　college；　he　had　looked　almost　the　same　thenperhaps　a　little　older。

‘‘Well；　I　am　waiting；''　persisted　she。

She　thought　he　was　about　to　look　at　hera　thing　he　had　never　done；　to　her　knowledge；　since　they　had　known　each　other。　　She　nerved　herself　to　receive　the　shock；　with　a　certain　flutter　of　expectancy；　of　excitement　even。　　But　instead　of　looking；　he　settled　himself　in　a　slightly　different　position　and　fixed　his　gaze　upon　another　point　in　the　horizon。　　She　noted　that　he　had　splendid　handsideal　hands　for　a　man；　with　the　same　suggestion　of　intense　vitality　and　aliveness　that　flashed　from　his　eyes。　　She　had　not　noted　this　before。　　Next　she　saw　that　he　had　good　feet；　and　that　his　boots　were　his　only　article　of　apparel　that　fitted　him；　or　rather；　that　looked　as　if　made　for　him。

She　tossed　her　cigarette　over　the　rail　to　the　sand。　He　startled　her　by　speaking；　in　his　unemotional　way。　He　said：

‘‘Now；　I　like　you　better。''

‘‘I　don't　understand；''　said　she。

No　answer　from　him。　　The　cigarette　depending　listlessly　from　his　lips　seemedas　usualuncertain　whether　it　would　stay　or　fall。　　She　watched　this　uncertainty　with　a　curious；　nervous　interest。　　She　was　always　thinking　that　cigarette　would　fall；　but　it　never　did。　Said　she：

‘‘Why　did　you　say　you　liked　me　less？''

‘‘Better；''　corrected　he。

‘‘We　used　to　have　a　pump　in　our　back　yard　at　home；''　laughed　she。　　‘‘One　toiled　away　at　the　handle；　but　nothing　ever　came。　　And　it　was　a　promising…looking　pump；　too。''

He　smileda　slow；　reluctant　smile；　but　undeniably　attractive。　　Said　he：

‘‘Because　you　threw　away　your　cigarette。''

‘‘You　object　to　women　smoking？''

‘‘No；''　said　he。　　His　tone　made　her　feel　how　absurd　it　was　to　suspect　him　of　such　provincialism。

‘‘You　object　to　MY　smoking？''　suggested　she；　laughing；　‘‘Pump！　　Pump！''

‘‘No；''　said　he。

‘‘Then　your　remark　meant　nothing　at　all？''

He　was　silent。

‘‘You　are　rude；''　said　she　coldly；　rising　to　go　into　the　house。

He　said　something；　what　she　did　not　hear；　in　her　agitation。　　She　paused　and　inquired：

‘‘What　did　you　say？''

‘‘I　said；　I　am　not　rude　but　kind；''　replied　he。

‘‘That　is　detestable！''　cried　she。　　‘‘I　have　not　liked　you；　but　I　have　been　polite　to　you　because　of　Stanley　and　Mrs。　Brindley。　　Why　should　you　be　insulting　to　me？''

‘‘What　have　I　done？''　inquired　he；　unmoved。　　He　had　risen　as　she　rose；　but　instead　of　facing　her　he　was　leaning　against　the　post　of　the　veranda；　bent　upon　his　seaward　vigil。

‘‘You　have　insinuated　that　your　reasons　for　not　liking　me　were　a　reflection　on　me。''

‘‘You　insisted；''　said　he。

‘‘You　mean　that　they　are？''　demanded　she　furiously。　She　was　amazed　at　her　wild；　unaccountable　rage。

He　slowly　turned　his　head　and　looked　at　hera　glance　without　any　emotion　whatever；　simply　a　look　that；　like　the　beam　of　a　powerful　searchlight；　seemed　to　thrust　through　fog　and　darkness　and　to　light　up　everything　in　its　path。　　Said　he：

‘‘Do　you　wish　me　to　tell　you　why　I　don't　like　you？''

‘‘No！''　she　cried　hysterically。　　‘‘Never　mindI　don't　know　what　I'm　saying。''　　And　she　went　hastily　into　the　house。　　A　moment　later；　in　her　own　room　upstairs；　she　was　wondering　at　herself。　　Why　had　she　become　confused？　　What　did　he　mean？　　What　had　she　seenor　half　seenin　the　darkness　and　fog　within　herself　when　he　looked　at　her？　　In　a　passion　she　cried：

‘‘If　he　would　only　stay　away！''



VI


BUT　he　did　not　stay　away。　　He　owned　and　lived　in　a　small　house　up　on　the　Rumson　Road。　　While　the　house　was　little　more　than　a　bungalow　and　had　a　simplicity　that　completely　hid　its　rare　good　taste　from　the　average　observer；　its　grounds　were　the　most　spacious　in　that　neighborhood　of　costly；　showy　houses　set　in　grounds　not　much　more　extensive　than　a　city　building　lot。　　The　grounds　had　been　cleared　and　drained　to　drive　out　and　to　keep　out　the　obnoxious　insect　life；　but　had　been　left　a　forest；　concealing　the　house　from　the　roads。　　Stanley　Baird　was　now　stopping　with　Keith；　and　brought　him　along　to　the　cottage　by　the　sea　every　day。

The　parties　narrowed　to　the　same　four　persons。　　Mrs。　Brindley　seemed　never　to　tire　of　talking　to　Keith　or　to　tire　of　talking　about　him　when　the　two　men　had　left；　late　each　night。　　As　for　Stanley；　he　referred　everything　to　Keiththe　weather　prospects；　where　they　should　go　for　the　day；　what　should　be　eaten　and　drunk；　any　point　about　politics　or　fashion；　life　or　literature　or　what　not；　that　happened　to　be　discussed。　　And　he　looked　upon　Donald's　monosyllabic　reply　to　his　inquiry　as　a　final　judgment；　ending　all　possibility　of　argument。　Mildred　held　out　long。　　Then；　in　spite　of　herself；　she　began　to　yield；　ceased　to　dislike　him；　found　a　kind　of　pleasureor；　perhaps；　fascinated　interestin　the　nervousness　his　silent　and　indifferent　presence　caused　her。　　She　liked　to　watch　that　immobile；　perfect　profile；　neither　young　nor　old；　indeed　not　suggesting　age　in　any　degree；　but　only　experience　and　knowledgeand　an　infinite　capacity　for　emotion；　for　passion　even。　　The　dead…white　color　declared　it　had　already　been　lived；　the　brilliant；　usually　averted　or　veiled　eyes　asserted　present　vitality；　pulsing　under　a　calm　surface。

One　day　when　Stanley；　in　the　manner　of　one　who　wishes　a　thing　settled　and　settled　right；　said　he　would　ask　Donald　Keith　about　it；　Mildred；　a　little　piqued；　a　little　amused；　retorted：

‘‘And　what　will　he　answer？　　Why；　simply　yes　or　no。''

‘‘That's　all；''　assented　Stanley。　　‘‘And　that's　quite　enough；　isn't　it？''

‘‘But　how　do　you　know　he's　as　wise　as　he　pretends？''

‘‘He　doesn't　pretend　to　be　anything　or　to　know　anything。　　That's　precisely　it。''

Mildred　suddenly　began　to　like　Keith。　　She　had　never　thought　of　this　before。　　Yes；　it　was　true；　he　did　not　pretend。　　Not　in　the　least；　not　about　anything。　　When　you　saw　him；　you　saw　at　once　the　worst　there　was　to　see。　　It　was　afterward　that　you　discovered　he　was　not　slove