Chapter XXXIX

Nelly, upon receiving at noon of the following day Melissa’s ardent confession, lifted her eyebrows, sighed and shook hands across the table ... once more of the Roof-Tree Inn.

“I’m disappointed, of course,” she said ... “but not too surprised. A job wasn’t really what you wanted. You tried to escape from it in the first place ... subconscious honesty on your part. You belong in some man’s home. You were trying blindly to get there. Of course the thing was complicated by your insistence on caring for the man. You’re a born lover, Melissa--that’s your trouble! It makes anything else seem--unimportant--to you. It shows in you, too ... like deep red in a rose. That’s what drew all those men around you.” She sketched a crooked pattern on the table with her thumbnail. “Thing I don’t get is ... out of the lot of them--Ben Carroll! In Heaven’s name, why?”

Nelly knew him. Nelly had known him for years. Casually. Without any desire to know him more nearly. She had met him on parties with Roderick--and Luke.

“Nelly--don’t you think he’s--wonderful?”

“No--can’t say I do. He’s got a pleasant voice....”

“Pleasant! He’s got the most beautiful voice I ever listened to! And his eyes, Nelly ... and the way he carries his head....”

“This,” said Nelly Rivers grinning, “is hardly decent. You’ll admit his hair’s red--or won’t you?”

“Bronze,” said Melissa, shamefaced.

“Good Lord! It’s brindle. And he’s so abominably sure of himself.”

“Nelly--a big man’s got to be!”

“He isn’t a big man yet--by long odds ... he’s a poor young lawyer with the political bee in his bonnet. He’s a dreamer....”

“So am I,” said Melissa softly.

“He’s ambitious--with nothing to go on.”

“Ambition--like his--finds something to go on.”

“As his wife you’ll have your head in the clouds--but your toes in the ashes, my dear--”

“Well--I’ll have his heart in my hand, which makes it even,” said Melissa.

She looked at Nelly imploringly.

“Pansy-eyes!” said Nelly. “I hate to see you being such a fool. He isn’t worth it. He’s just one more nice young man ... he hasn’t half Luke’s charm....”

“He has twice Luke’s strength....”

“Roderick could take much better care of you ... if you’ve got to marry some one.”

“Roderick would bore me--past caring for.”

“Have it your own way! Marry him and go along with him. Take all the disillusionment--that’s coming to you!... But when your head clears and you can see the road again ... pick yourself up and come back--the latch-string’s always out.”

“Oh, Nelly--” said Melissa with unsteady lip, “--a lover like Ben ... and a friend like you!...”

“Sunk--aren’t you?” said Nelly cheerfully. “Well--sweets to the sweet, old dear! Don’t make yourself too sick--that’s all. I’ve got to run along, now. God knows what I’ll say to Brooks! I told him you were sworn to Celibacy.”

“I saw him this morning,” said Melissa humbly. “He wasn’t pleased. But he wasn’t too--unpleasant.”

“Oh, I haven’t a doubt,” said Nelly, pulling on her gloves and settling her hat with an impatient touch--“if the Angel of the flaming sword had been a male--and you had been Eve--you’d be in the Garden yet! Cheerio!”

She left Melissa slightly disconcerted. It appeared, by way of Nelly, that Carroll, in the eye of the unprejudiced observer, was “just one more nice young man.” Not the dream come true--the ineffable unbelievable dream--but merely a “poor young lawyer--brindle-haired ... with the political bee in his bonnet.”

Melissa had a moment’s terrifying sense of walking in mist which might at any moment dissolve and leave her on barren shores.

Something Luke had once said came into her mind ... “All you’ve got is the world you’re in ... you’re inside a bubble of your own blowing ... sit tight and pray it doesn’t burst with you....”

But if one believed the bubble to be the world--it _was_ the world--while one believed it. There wasn’t any world outside one’s belief in it. And what one saw in one’s lover, he _was_ ... whether any one else saw him so or not.

Just as the beautiful woman, the white flame of existence, that he saw in oneself, became (directly a taxi-driver regarded her--or a clerk in a shop--or a boy on the street, say)--merely a rather pretty person, needing perhaps, a little powder on her nose.

“Love--” thought Melissa--“is seeing each other clear! Outsiders have murky vision.”

Carroll talked to her early in the afternoon over the telephone and she promised to meet him at half-past five at the entrance to the Marchesa’s apartment.

“I’d like to see her--just this once more--” said Melissa, “after all--except for her, we wouldn’t have....”

“Oh, yes, we would--somehow!” said Carroll.

Even over the wire the deep tones of his voice, its drawling caress, its beautiful vibrant clearness stirred Melissa’s senses while it spoke to her soul.

“You’ll meet me there, won’t you, Ben?”

“Meet you anywhere.”

“At half-after five?”

“Awfully late.”

“It can’t be any earlier. She sleeps in the afternoon. I just want to say good-by to her--and tell her about us.”

“Don’t tell her too much. She might talk you out of it.”

“Nobody could.”

“You mean that?”

“You know I do.”

“Very well--I’ll let you go, then. Don’t make me wait. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Melissa closed the connection very softly and sat with her hand against her lips for some moments thereafter. Heavenly nonsense--foam on an uncharted sea! Words playing over the untellable--like rockets spangling the illimitable dark.

She called Anna and asked if she might see the Marchesa at five.

Anna, perennially ungracious, conveyed the fact that she might--at five--no later.

“Thank you, Anna,” said Melissa. She could have thanked the sun that day for being in the sky.

At five, to the moment, she rang the Marchesa’s bell and was admitted.

Yellow roses, drooping on the tea-table beside the frosted silver tea-service, the shallow Dresden cups; yellow roses and violets on the mantel-shelf among the uniformed and tail-coated suitors attitudinizing in their too ornate frames. The Spanish shawl bloomed dimly along an end of the piano. On the chaise longue foolish little heart-shaped and circular cushions of Normandy lace still invited to doubtful repose. On the walls, Paolo, once aide to the King of Italy, still proclaimed across a faithful trouser-leg, “Toute à vous, Amalie!” ... Paolo and others. Pointing the fading innuendoes of the naughty French prints. Inferring all things possible to youth and beauty and passion. Discreetly recording--nothing--beyond a pretty phrase and a signature.

The Marchesa sat in the winged chair and looked Melissa over with the eyes of an old lady eagle who has been much given to sun-worship. She waved a small pink-nailed claw, heavy with diamonds. She said with a cracked chuckle:

“Well--well! I thought I had seen the last of you. Changed your mind, have you? Come back for a second helping. It’s no earthly use, my good girl. Do sit down! Makes me nervous--your standing over me like that. Have you gotten thinner? You look so tall. And you need a good deal more rouge. Sit down and tell me to what I owe the pleasure of this visit--though I warn you--it’s not the least use! You had your chance and you threw it away. You made your bed and you can lie on it.” She added a delicate jest in impeccable French.

Melissa felt all the old antagonism rise in her like a wave. Her color rose with it.

“That blush of yours is the best thing about you,” observed the Marchesa critically. “Don’t waste it on me. I’m no longer interested. When I think what you might have done--with my assistance....”

Melissa said clearly, holding herself well in check. “That is why I am here. I only want to thank you ... for having given me a chance ... to meet ... the man I am going to marry.” She looked the Marchesa fair in the eyes and knew, not without a tinge of malicious triumph--instantly regretted--that she had scored and underscored in the announcement.

“Marry ... what ... what man?” cried the Marchesa shrilly. She clenched withered fingers on the arms of her chair, staring into Melissa’s face, like a rouged and powdered fury, with silver curls for snakes. “Do you mean to tell me, Roderick has been after you again? In spite of all I said to him?... You’re lying!... I don’t believe you ... he’s got far too much sense ... besides, I have other plans....”

“I am not speaking of your nephew,” said Melissa coldly. The Marchesa’s venom sickened her. She hurried on, her whole being turning to the street below, to Ben, perhaps even now, waiting ... watching the doorway for her....

“I am going to marry Ben Carroll,” she said while the Marchesa’s fingers relaxed and her jaw dropped ... “he is a friend of Mr. Delano’s. I met him in Mr. Delano’s apartment. I don’t know if you know him.”

The Marchesa looked at Melissa for a long curious moment in silence.

“Ben Carroll--” she said at length. “Ben Carroll! Of course I know him! That red-headed ne’er-do-weel from Alabama. Upon my word you have feathered your nest! He’s poor as Job’s turkey....”

“So he tells me,” said Melissa smiling.

“You’re in love with him!” said the Marchesa abruptly. “You’ve got that moony look you used to have--when--when I talked about Roderick--before you ever met him ... wait a moment! wait a moment! I think I begin to see.... Oh--this is too much!”

“I’m sorry--I can’t wait--” interrupted Melissa, rising in a panic. Ferret and pointer again! That horrid eager sniffing at the door of one’s dearest secrecies ... that uncanny shrill outcry ... it came while she dreaded it ... the Marchesa burst into peal after peal of thin hysteric laughter.

“Carroll was your Mister Roderick--was he? I don’t know just how but give me time and I’ll have it! ... he must have been! You’ve got the same look when you speak of him. And--I remember now--it all comes back to me--you thought Roderick so changed. The first night you saw him. Oh, mon Dieu--imagine Roderick with red hair! Imagine Roderick with any hair at all!... He’s been bald for years ... so many good men are.”

“I’m sorry,” said Melissa, chill as frost, “--I really must go--it’s half-after five....”

“Half-after five ... sacr-r-ré! ...” the Marchesa’s amusement evaporated instantly. Her interest with it. She displayed all at once an almost feverish willingness to speed the parting guest. She gestured toward the door. She grimaced sweetly. She scattered farewell phrases like largesse.

“I hope you’ll be very happy, I’m sure!--Though I must say I doubt it. With no money--and that hair! Temperament of course. He’ll be unfaithful to you in no time.... I’d no idea it was so late ... don’t let me keep you! So glad to have seen you again, Melissa....”

Melissa said good-by and went, slightly annoyed, not unnaturally, to be thus evicted.

On the threshold she heard a sudden flow of speech behind her. The Marchesa, to Anna, in urgent command.

“When that girl from the library comes, Anna ... have her up at once--at once, do you hear! And, Anna ... you might bring in some sherry and biscuits....”

A reminiscent bit of business.

Melissa waited for the elevator, oddly startled.

Stepping into it when it came, she brushed against a girl stepping out. A pretty creature in a simple dark frock, with a small dark hat on her bright hair, mutinous eyes, a sulky red mouth.

“Can you tell me--I want the apartment of the Marchesa di Ricci.”

Melissa listened spellbound while the slave of the elevator gave direction.

Going down, she wondered ... and put wonder away from her.

What did it matter--what did anything matter except the man in the doorway, waiting?

He took the hand she put out to him, he looked down at her. He was himself of the picture, he was himself of the night before ... he was reality no longer to be questioned, in the midst of a shifting world.

He said: “How have you been?” his voice slightly unsteady.

Melissa couldn’t answer. She slipped her hand inside his arm. They turned west--for no reason at all.

He said: “Where’ll we go for dinner?”

Melissa, getting hold of herself, replied: “There’s a little rotisserie, on Sixth Avenue....”

“All right--we’ll find a taxi.”

“No, we won’t--we’ll take a bus.”

“Melissa--I’ve got something for you ...” he took a small box out of his pocket. A slight tremor about his mouth--barely a smile--wrung Melissa’s heart. “Do I have to give it to you on top of a bus?”

“There’s a taxi!” said Melissa.

He signaled. The taxi drew up.

“Miss me to-day?” he asked, helping Melissa in.

She turned her head and touched her lips to his coat-sleeve.

The door closed. The taxi lurched forward.

“Where did you tell him to go?” asked Melissa.

“Anywhere he liked,” said Ben Carroll.

Melissa put out her left hand ... made a wistful face.

“It was my mother’s,” said Ben Carroll and slipped a cluster of pearls on her finger.

Early dusk--and the taxi rattled swiftly along. They kissed, in its undersea gloom. Their hands clung hard.

“Always!” he said.

Melissa whispered: “As long as I live.”

Brave words ... beautiful as old battle-flags, riddled with bullets, ragged with time, ... but able still to draw men to follow!

* * * * *

At that moment the Marchesa was saying, between sips of sherry and greedy bites at a biscuit.... “I’ll expect you, of course to confide in me, absolutely--to come to me about everything. What we can’t do, my dear--with your youth--and my experience!”

THE END

Transcriber’s Notes

- Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.

- Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.

- Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.

- Variations in hyphenation kept as in the original.