Chapter XI

In which Mr. Canning must go South for his Health, and Cally
lies awake to think.

Midnight stillness hung over the House of Heth, five doors from Mr. Beirne's. Dim sounds from above indicated that Mrs. Heth, who had come in a few moments earlier, did not mean to sit up for anybody. She had, however, left the door "on the latch" as agreed. Carlisle and Mr. Canning passed within, out of the biting New Year.

It was like stepping into heaven to be at home again, after the rabble and rattle at Mr. Beirne's. Canning shut the door with something like a sigh.

"A lodge at last! We've had--well, a fragmentary time of it, haven't we?... That chap with the game foot is simply my hoodoo."

Carlisle winced a little. "Oh! Then you did remember him?"

"Could I forget my Beach supplanter, my giver of colds in the head? What's wrong with the fellow anyway?"

"Everything," said she. "Let's go into the library."

"Why should he remind me of a camp-meeting funeral, I wonder?" mused Canning, following behind--"or is it something I read in the book of Job?"

The girl answered with a vague laugh. Mr. Canning's odd but evident antagonism to the man she herself had such cause to dislike was agreeable to her, but the topic was not. She had had enough of the Vivians of this world for one night. She led the way through the dark drawing-room, and at the switch beyond the door turned the light into two soft-tinted dome-lamps. The library was massive rather than "livable"; it had books, which is more than can be said for some libraries; but they were chiefly books in stately sets, yards and yards of them just alike: a depressing matter to the true lover. However, it was at least solitude; solitude enveloped with an air of intimacy vastly agreeable and compensatory. It did not seem so certain now that the golden evening was ruined past hope....

"You and he seemed to be having a terribly earnest discussion," said Canning. "Of course I did my best to eavesdrop, but Miss Allen was so charming I caught only a word now and then."

"He was lecturing me about how my father ought to run his business. He always does...."

She replenished the dying fire with a soft lump, and poked it unskilfully, all but stabbing the life out of it. Canning, standing and staring half-absently into the soft glow, did not offer to relieve her of the poker. They knew each other very well by now.

"Only don't let's spoil our little party by talking about him," she went on--"he rubs me the wrong way so. And do please take off that polar overcoat. It positively makes me _shiver_...."

"Lecturing appears to be the fellow's specialty.... Well!"

He threw his overcoat, stick, and white gloves on the fire-settle, turned and glanced down at her. After the long and broken evening, he looked somewhat fatigued. Carlisle, already seated, was just beginning to unbutton her left long glove.

"Fine hours, fine hours these, for even a play sick-man! Yet I linger on...."

"You must stay," said she, "till the last person has gone from Mr. Beirne's."

The mantel clock stood at twenty minutes past twelve. With a little laugh she reached up and turned its small commemorative face to the wall.

"Or," she added, becoming grave, "are you really quite tired out with being with me?"

"I was hardly thinking that," said Canning.

He dropped into a chair and stared into the fire. Carlisle glanced at his face in profile; a virile and commanding face it was, and to her, singularly attractive.

"My thoughts were running in the contrary direction," said Canning. "Do you remember my saying long ago that once I began to gambol, I was never satisfied till I had gambolled all over the place? I suppose I need a guardian, but unluckily I have one. Miss Heth, I've some sad news--sad for me, I mean. I must go south to-morrow."

Carlisle turned her head with a little start.

"To-morrow! Oh, _no_!"

"No--you're right! I _can't _go to-morrow! The day after at the farthest, or I suppose Heber'll be down after me with a couple of sheriffs."

"But I don't understand," she said, hurriedly. "What's happened? I--I hoped you would stay till the end of the week at least."

Canning's gaze remained upon the fire.

"So did I, though of course I've known I'd no business hanging on the skirt of Mason and Dixon's line this way. I might almost as well be in my office at home--tackling the pile of work that's been rolling up while I go on with this invalid's mummery.... Well, Heber's found me out, as of course the clever beggar would. He's been thinking, you see, that I was in Pineburst, at the least. I had a red-headed telegram from him this afternoon ordering me to move on to Palm Beach instanter, or he would bring my revered parents down on me like a thousand of brick--no small matter, I assure you.... Palm Beach--Havana, perhaps!--till winter breaks!... A happy New Year message, isn't it?"

"It's very sad for me," said Carlisle, looking away from him.

"Well, I can't say that I feel exactly hilarious about it, you know."

There fell a brief silence, in which the crackling of the large new coal became noticeable.

"Duty is a hard word, Miss Heth," said Canning. "A thousand times I've wished that I wasn't an only son--my family's one hopeful. But I am, alas.... And hence the little rest-cure...."

"Yes, it's hard," she answered. And instead of going on as some girls would, "Don't you think you could _possibly_ stay a little longer?"--she added, in tones of comforting: "But of course you will enjoy Florida immensely. You know you'll find agreeable people, and plenty of fun--"

"Of course! It is my particular delight," said Canning, in his hoarsened voice, "to stay in an attractive place just long enough to fall in love with it, and then be whipped away like a naughty schoolboy."

Carlisle slowly drew off her glove.

"I'm glad you've liked it here," said she.... "Shall you stop again, on your way back home?"

The man's eyes turned from the fire full upon her face. His voice changed a little.

"What do you think?"

"I only know what I hope," said she; and her gold-and-black lashes fell.

The firelight played upon her half-averted face, twisted shadows into the sheen of her hair, incarnadined her smooth cheek. Whiter and softer than swan's down gleamed her round bare shoulder, her perfect neck. Canning's blood moved. He turned more fully and leaned toward her, his elbow on her chair-arm.

"Could you think that all these happy days with you have meant so little to me?... You've a poor opinion of me, indeed. Didn't I say in the beginning that you did not know how to be kind?"

At his tone, the girl's breath came faster. She sat in silence pulling her long gloves between slim little hands.

"You are hard, Miss Heth," said Canning, slowly. And he added, with that touch of unconscious pride with which he always spoke of the Cannings, their position and serious responsibilities in the world: "When I compel myself to think of my duty toward my father and my family, I make sacrifices which ought, I think, to win me your approval. I've a place to fill some day.... But since you ask, I shall think also of myself. I shall come again to the old Payne fort."

She gave him a look which said that she was not really unkind. And Canning immediately possessed her ungloved hand in both of his. Her heart flattered at his touch; her hand seemed to feel that this indeed was where it belonged; but, on the whole, training and intuition appeared to indicate a contrary view. There was a moment of stillness, of acquiescence, in which she became aware that he bent nearer. And then Carlisle rose, with a natural air, taking the hand along with her, incidentally as it were. Standing by the fire, looking down into it, she said:

"The town will be empty without you."

Behind her, Canning had risen too, with a sort of sharpness. He was silent. And then it was borne in upon her that the proud young man was moving toward his trappings, to go....

"Your friendly words are much appreciated," said he, smiling. "But I observe that I've overstayed horribly."

The girl regarded him. Hardly since the first moments in Kerr's apartment, had she heard that ironical note in Mr. Canning's voice; and yet she understood at once, and was not alarmed. Gently as she had removed herself, he had felt himself rebuffed; and he could be abrupt at his pleasure.

Nothing good could come out of this horrid evening, but there would be another. And in her heart, besides, she did not believe that he would go away day after to-morrow....

"Perhaps you'll drive with me to-morrow afternoon?"

"Oh, I'd like to so much," she said, naturally, as if nothing had passed between them. "And I'm so sorry about to-night, really. You've been such a saint, and all for me. You deserve a beautiful reward, a big medal, at least, and instead, an icy five-mile ride--"

"Reward!" said Canning, wheeling, still smiling a little. "What under heaven does the inconsequent sex know of reward? Up they trip, and with one flip of a little high heel kick a man's settled plans topsy-turvy. And for this upsetting he must thank his stars if he gets in return one kind smile a week. Punishment, not reward, strikes me as the feminine idea...."

"I think," she said, a little embarrassed, "the only person I've really punished to-night is Me."

And she felt a twinge, half regret, half compunction, which was not tactical at all. After all, this man had been extraordinarily nice to her, and she was letting him go feeling that she did not appreciate it....

She offered him her left hand to say good-night, and invested the gesture with a sweet air of penitence.

"But don't speak as if you were displeased with me, just when I'm so sad about your going away.... _Are_ you displeased with me--or do you like me very much?"

"I am displeased with you, and I like you very much."

As the small hand lingered with him, warming by contact, the man's clasp tightened. He brought up his other hand and folded it over it.

"I'll miss you dreadfully--you know that.... Very, _very_ much? That's the largest amount of liking known, isn't it?"

"Then that's the amount ..."

Outside sounded the blasts of horns and the wheels of departing guests from Mr. Beirne's: 'low on the sand and loud on the stone.' In the soft-lit room no sound broke the nocturnal stillness except the mechanism of the clock, pushing busily toward the three-quarter mark. Carlisle was looking up at Canning with eyes full of unpremeditated sweetness. Into Canning's face the blood leapt suddenly. Without other warning, he leaned back against the heavy table, and took her almost roughly in his arms.

"I'm mad about you, you lovely little witch. Do you hear? It grinds my heart that I must leave you...."

The turbulence of the sudden demonstration swept the girl from her moorings. If she had seemed to invite it, it yet came quite unexpectedly. For the moment she stood still in Canning's embrace, yielding herself with a thrilled passivity, as one who, with a full heart, touches high destiny at last. And in that moment her cheek, hair, eyes, then at last her lips, felt the sting of his Catullian endearments....

But the moment of bliss in culmination passed with fainting quickness. The willing ear heard not. Unsteadied intuitions began to work again, chilling the girl's blood with the knowledge of wrong here, of glaring omission. And the more her gallant murmured, it seemed, the wider gaped the sudden lack....

"You've been so good to me--so dear, so sweet--charmed away my hours as no one else could. Darling!... It's hard to be the stranger and the passer-by! I know you'll forget me, only too soon.... How can I tell you how grateful I am for all you've given me, in sweetness and happy days?..."

How, indeed, since this was the utmost of his wish of her?

The girl's blood warmed again with a leap, overflowing upon her fine skin. Understanding now came to her, with crushing force. Her knight made for her a pretty summary of an episode that was past. There was to come no coronation of words to ennoble these caresses: Mr. Canning, at parting, desired to thank her for her sweetness. And this was the high moment toward which she had been dancing on the fleece-pink of clouds through many days....

And then his arms about her were suddenly a burning and a torture; she felt a blush sweep her from head to foot, enveloping her as in a garment of fire, shaking her with a wild mysterious shame. And she took herself, almost with violence, from the enfolding embrace.

All tenderness, Canning came after her, Pan and his fleeing nymph....

"You darling, I've frightened you! Forgive my roughness. You can't know how your utter adorableness throws me off my guard...."

She turned to the mantelpiece, and, laying a rounded arm upon it, buried her face from his view.

Canning had come near, intending a gentler caress; but something in the dead unresponsiveness of her bowed figure abruptly allayed that intention. The complete repulse, the girl's silent emotion, had surprised him, indeed, like a box on the ears. Well he knew the feministic curve of advance and recoil. Yet he found himself unexpectedly, profoundly, stirred.

"I'm a brute," said he, presently, with an odd ring of conviction. "You go to my head like drink sweeter than was ever brewed. I've had a hard fight all these days to keep my hands off you...."

Carlisle raised her head and turned. Canning had expected to see her face stained with tears, or, more probably, flaming with (at least half-feigned) anger. His heart turned a little when he saw how still and white she was.

"You must go now, please," she said, in rather a strained voice, not looking towards him; and by some strange and subtle process of association she fell into words which she had used within the hour to another: "I don't wish to talk with you any more."

The man's handsome face flushed brightly. He said in a throbbing voice:

"I can't let you dismiss me this way. I can't endure it. Have I offended so--"

"I can't talk with you any more now. I must ask--"

"But you won't be so cruel! If I've offended, won't you make some allowance for my temptation? Am I a snow-man, to come so near and be unmoved? Am I to be a monk, because I live under sentence in a monastery? You ..."

To do him justice, he did not look in the least like either of these things. However, Carlisle missed his look. Standing with lowered eyes, she said again, colorlessly:

"Please leave me now--I beg you--"

"But I can't leave you this way!" said Canning. "It's impossible! You misjudge me so--"

"Then I must leave you," said Carlisle; and started to go past him.

But Canning blocked her way, his face, troubled with deep concern, more handsome and winning than she had ever seen it. Only she still did not see it. He thought, with a whirling mind, that this was carrying the thing rather too far; but he saw with chagrin and a curious inner tumult the entire uselessness of more argument to-night.

"I am heartbroken," he said, a little stiffly, "that I've brought you somehow to think so hardly of me. Your thought does a great wrong to the--respect and deep devotion I feel and shall feel for you." He wobbled the least bit over these words, as if himself conscious of a certain inadequacy, but went on with his usual masculine decisiveness: "Now it must of course be as you wish. But to-morrow I shall make you understand me better."

He picked up hat, coat, and stick, defeated, yet not spoiled of his air. But as he turned to go, and looked at her for his formal bow, he was all at once aware that she wore a wholly new dignity in his sight, a subtly enhanced desirability. Unexpectedly her marble loveliness shot him through and through, and he said in a low throbbing voice:

"You darling--darling! How can I bear to part from you like this? Forgive me _now_, Carlisle ..."

But Carlisle's only response was to move away toward the hall.

A moment later the front door shut, rather hard. Carlisle's second impassioned parting within an hour was over. She switched off the tall newel-post lamp, and went upstairs in the dark.

* * * * *

She was a long time in going to sleep. Not since she had the fever, as a little girl, was the great god of forgetfulness so elusive to her wooing. Not since the night at the Beach, and never in her life before that night, had the merry imps of thought so strung her brain upon a thumbscrew. Now came Self-Communion, rarest of her comrades, and perched upon her pillow.

All was plain now, by one instant of merciless illumination. She sufficed to beguile Mr. Canning's leisure for an invalid sojourn far from his normal haunts, but apart from that she had no existence for him. He could see her daily, monopolize her time, for these things happened to amuse him; he could make love to her, lead her in a hundred subtle ways to feel that her companionship was sweet to him; and then he could board a train and ride handsomely away, and woe is the word to the conquered. And by this freedom that he felt, and in particular by the license of his prodigal kisses, it appeared that she read the heart of his secret opinion of her.

Never again should he show her this opinion, at least: he should board his train with no more sight of her. On this her thought was crystal-clear from the beginning. That such short shrift to Mr. Hugo Canning was suicidally impolitic, she naturally had no difficulty in realizing; the dread of reporting the affair to mamma had already shot through her mind. But for the moment these things seemed oddly not to matter. She was clearly in the grip of one of those mysterious "flare-ups" which her mother disliked and objected to so intensely: to such lengths borne by her recoil from Mr. Canning's familiarity. She had met the common fate of beauty. Flaming young men had kissed her before now. But none had kissed her without the desire of her love, none as the fair price exacted for a couple of weeks' lordly attentions. By their lightness, as by their passion, Canning's kisses had seemed to sear and scar. They had given her body to be burned. For this was the fulness of his desire of her, her favor to wear in his button-hole; and his thought stabbed at her, beneath his gallant's air, that by now he had fairly earned it.

In the dark as it was, the memory of her moment of revelation had turned the girl's face downward upon her pillow. How, oh how, had he come to image her on so low a plane? How did it come to be that men should have slighting opinions of _her_, of all people, and so slap them across her face?...

It was the first time that such a thought of herself had ever risen before her mind, though in a sense not the first time she had had a pretext for it. Her painful meditations included brief note of Vivian, the eccentric stray across her path who had once considered her deserving of pity as a poor little thing. He, of course, was only an unbalanced religious fanatic, whose opinions were not of the slightest consequence to anybody, whom everybody seemed to take a dislike to at sight (except ignorant paupers like the Cooneys), and whose ideal type of girl would probably be some hideous dowd, a slum-worker, a Salvation Army lassie, perhaps. Yet this man had felt sorry for her at the Beach; he had done it again to-night.... And if he was quite out of her world of men, was of course not a man at all as she counted men, the same could not possibly be said of Mr. Canning, a man of her own kind in the royal power....

The thought of herself as vulnerable and vincible to the hostile sex had come upon the girl, fire-new, with disruptive force. It was pulling out the pin which held her life together. For if she was a failure in the subjugation of men, then she was a failure everywhere: this being the supreme, indeed, you might say the only, purpose of her life....

Below in the still house, the soft-toned chimes rang two; and, almost on the heels of that, it seemed, three. Step by step, Carlisle went back over all her acquaintance with Canning from their first meeting; and gave herself small glory. She had pursued him to the Beach; she had pursued him to Willie's apartment; and on both occasions, and since, she had used her arts to lure him into reversing the pursuit. A dozen times she had sought to lead him, so it seemed now, further than he ever had the slightest idea of going. Was it really a wonder that he, whose experienced eyes observed everything, had seen in her merely his ready plaything? Repulsed, he could wear an air of genuine tenderness, but never doubt that in his heart he was laughing at her, and had a right to....

And she herself ... Were these the pangs of unrequited love that tore her breast? In her desire to land the great catch, by hook or by crook, when had she paused to consult her heart about the glittering prospect? What else did it all mean but that she, calculating, had offered herself to him at the price of his hand, name, and enduring complement of happiness, and he, lightly responding, had rated her as worth, at most, only his counterfeit coin. Why else should the memory of the moment downstairs continually return to her like an affront?

She was of her world and time, not unsophisticated; but it chanced that she possessed a mind natively maiden. Through all her vigil, through all her questioning and novel self-criticism, her mind's-eye picture of Canning, as his arms went round her, ran like a torturing motif. The portrait became detestable to her. She hated him, she would hate him forever as the man who had cruelly revealed to her that love and his base brother can speak with the same voice and hand.

And next day, when a box of glorious and penitent blossoms was followed within an hour by Canning's card and presence at her door, the girl's resolution to see him nevermore held staunch. It held to deny him a second time on the afternoon following. After that it was subjected to no more tests. And the social columns of another morning made it known to the general public that the Paynes' distinguished house-guest had departed for points south.