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The Flirt, a novel by Booth Tarkington |
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Chapter 18 |
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_ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Mrs. Lindley had arranged for her son a small apartment on the second floor, and it was in his own library and smoking-room that Richard, comfortable in a leather-chair by a reading-lamp, after dinner, opened Laura's ledger. The first page displayed no more than a date now eighteen months past, and the line: "Love came to me to-day." The next page was dated the next day, and, beneath, he read:
"I think I must always have thought a great deal about you without knowing it. We really know so little what we think: our minds are going on all the time and we hardly notice them. It is like a queer sort of factory--the owner only looks in once in a while and most of the time hasn't any idea what sort of goods his spindles are turning out. "I saw You yesterday! It seems to me the strangest thing in the world. I've seen you by chance, probably two or three times a month nearly all my life, though you so seldom come here to call. And this time wasn't different from dozens of other times--you were just standing on the corner by the Richfield, waiting for a car. The only possible difference is that you had been out of town for several months--Cora said so this morning--and how ridiculous it seems now, didn't even know it! I hadn't noticed it--not with the top part of my mind, but perhaps the deep part that does the real thinking had noticed it and had mourned your absence and was so glad to see you again that it made the top part suddenly see the wonderful truth!"
"And as I walked home, trembling all the way, I saw that strange, dazzling sunshine on your hair, and the wistful, kind look in your eyes--you seemed not to have taken the car but to have come with me--and I was uplifted and exalted oh, so strangely--oh, how the world was changing for me! And when I got near home, I began to walk faster, and on the front path I broke into a run and rushed in the house to the piano--and it was as if my fingers were thirsty for the keys! Then I saw that I was playing to you and knew that I loved you. "I love you! "How different everything is now from everything before. Music means what it never did: Life has leaped into blossom for me. Everywhere there is colour and radiance that I had never seen--the air is full of perfume. Dear, the sunshine that fell upon your head has spread over the world! "I understand, as I never understood, that the world--so dazzling to me now--was made for love and is meaningless without it. The years until yesterday are gray--no, not gray, because that was the colour You were wearing--not gray, because that is a beautiful colour. The empty years until yesterday had no colour at all. Yes, the world has meaning only through loving, and without meaning there is no real life. We live only by loving, and now that this gift of life has come to me I love _all_ the world. I feel that I must be so kind, kind, _kind_ to _everybody_! Such an odd thing struck me as my greatest wish. When I was little, I remember grandmother telling me how, when she was a child in pioneer days, the women made the men's clothes--homespun--and how a handsome young Circuit Rider, who was a bachelor, seemed to her the most beautifully dressed man she had ever seen. The women of the different churches made his clothes, as they did their husbands' and brothers.' you see--only better! It came into my head that that would be the divinest happiness that I could know--to sew for you! If you and I lived in those old, old times--you _look_ as if you belonged to them, you know, dear--and You were the young minister riding into the settlement on a big bay horse--and all the girls at the window, of course!--and I sewing away at the homespun for you!--I think all the angels of heaven would be choiring in my heart--and what thick, warm clothes I'd make you for winter! Perhaps in heaven they'll let some of the women sew for the men they love--I wonder! "I hear Cora's voice from downstairs as I write. She's often so angry with Ray, poor girl. It does not seem to me that she and Ray really belong to each other, though they _say_ so often that they do."
. . . "Though they _say_ so often that they do. I think Ray is in love with _her_, but it can't be like _this_. What he feels must be something wholly different--there is violence and wildness in it. And they are bitter with each other so often-- always 'getting even' for something. He does care--he is frantically '_in_ love' with her, undoubtedly, but so insanely jealous. I suppose all jealousy is insane. But love is the only sanity. How can what is insane be part of it? I could not be jealous of You. I owe life to you--I have never lived till now."
. . . . "Two days since I have talked to You in your book after Cora caught me staring at your door and laughed at me--and ten minutes ago I was sitting beside the _actual_ You on the porch! I am trembling yet. It was the first time you'd come for months and months; and yet you had the air of thinking it rather a pleasant thing to do as you came up the steps! And a dizzy feeling came over me, because I wondered if it was seeing me on the street _that_ day that put it into your head to come. It seemed too much happiness--and risking too much--to let myself _believe_ it, but I couldn't help just wondering. I began to tremble as I saw you coming up our side of the street in the moonlight--and when you turned in here I was all panic--I nearly ran into the house. I don't know how I found voice to greet you. I didn't seem to have any breath left at all. I was so relieved when Cora took a chair between us and began to talk to you, because I'm sure I couldn't have. She and poor Ray had been having one of their quarrels and she was punishing him. Poor boy, he seemed so miserable--though he tried to talk to me--about politics, I think, though I'm not sure, because I couldn't listen much better than either of us could talk. I could only hear Your voice--such a rich, quiet voice, and it has a sound like the look you have--friendly and faraway and wistful. I have thought and thought about what it is that makes you look wistful. You have less to wish for than anybody else in the world because you have Yourself. So why are you wistful? I think it's just because you _are_! "I heard Cora asking you why you hadn't come to see us for so long, and then she said: 'Is it because you dislike me? You look at me, sometimes, as if you dislike me!' And I wished she hadn't said it. I had a feeling you wouldn't like that 'personal' way of talking that she enjoys--and that--oh, it didn't seem to be in keeping with the dignity of You! And I love Cora so much I wanted her to be finer--with You. I wanted her to understand you better than to play those little charming tricks at you. You are so good, so _high_, that if she could make a real friend of you I think it would be the best thing for her that could happen. She's never had a man-_friend_. Perhaps she _was_ trying to make one of you and hasn't any other way to go about it. She can be so _really_ sweet, I wanted you to see that side of her. "Afterwhile, when Ray couldn't bear it any longer to talk to me, and in his desperation brazenly took Cora to the other end of the porch almost by force, and I was left, in a way, alone with you what did you think of me? I was tongue-tied! Oh, oh, oh! You were quiet--but _I_ was _dumb_! My heart wasn't dumb--it hammered! All the time I kept saying to myself such a jumble of things. And into the jumble would come such a rapture that You were there--it was like a paean of happiness--a chanting of the glory of having You near me--I _was_ mixed up! I could _play_ all those confused things, but writing them doesn't tell it. Writing them would only be like this: 'He's here, he's _here_! Speak, you little fool! He's here, he's here! He's sitting beside you! _speak_, idiot, or he'll never come back! He's here, he's beside you you could put out your hand and touch him! Are you dead, that you can't speak? He's here, he's here, he's _here_!' "Ah, some day I shall be able to talk to you--but not till I get more used to this inner song. It seems to _will_ that nothing else shall come from my lips till _it_ does! "In spite of my silence--my outward woodenness--you said, as you went away, that you would come again! You said 'soon'! I could only nod but Cora called from the other end of the porch and asked: '_How_ soon?' Oh, I bless her for it, because you said, 'Day after to-morrow.' Day after tomorrow! Day after to-morrow! _Day after tomorrow_! . . . . "Twenty-one hours since I wrote--no, _sang_--'Day after to-morrow!' And now it is 'To-morrow!' Oh, the slow, golden day that this has been! I could not stay in the house--I walked--no, I _winged_! I was in the open country before I knew it--with You! For You are in everything. I never knew the sky was blue, before. Until now I just thought it was the sky. The whitest clouds I ever saw sailed over that blue, and I stood upon the prow of each in turn, then leaped in and swam to the next and sailed with _it_! Oh, the beautiful sky, and kind, green woods and blessed, long, white, dusty country road! Never in my life shall I forget that walk--this day in the open with my love--You! To-morrow! To-morrow! To-morrow! _To-morrow_!"
"How funny little girls are! From the time they're little bits of things they talk about marriage--whom they are going to marry, what sort of person it will be. I think Cora and I began when she was about five and I not seven. And as girls grow up, I don't believe there was ever one who genuinely expected to be an old maid. The most unattractive young girls discuss and plan and expect marriage just as much as the prettier and gayer ones. The only way we can find out that men don't want to marry us is by their not asking us. We don't see ourselves very well, and I honestly believe we all think--way deep down--that we're pretty attractive. At least, every girl has the idea, sometimes, that if men only saw the whole truth they'd think her as nice as any other girl, and really nicer than most others. But I don't believe I have any hallucinations of that sort about myself left. I can't imagine--now--_any_ man seeing anything in me that would make him care for me. I can't see anything about me to care for, myself. Sometimes I think maybe I could make a man get excited about me if I could take a startlingly personal tone with him from the beginning, making him wonder all sorts of you-and-I perhapses--but I couldn't do it very well probably--oh, I couldn't make myself do it if I could do it well! And I shouldn't think it would have much effect except upon very inexperienced men--yet it does! Now, I wonder if this is a streak of sourness coming out; I don't feel bitter--I'm just thinking honestly, I'm sure. "Well, here I am facing it: all through my later childhood, and all through my girlhood, I believe what really occupied me most--with the thought of it underlying all things else, though often buried very deep--was the prospect of my marriage. I regarded it as a certainty: I would grow up, fall in love, get engaged, and be married--of course! So I grew up and fell in love with You--but it stops there, and I must learn how to be an Old Maid and not let anybody see that I mind it. I know this is the hardest part of it, the beginning: it will get easier by-and-by, of course. If I can just manage this part of it, it's bound not to hurt so much later on. "Yes, I grew up and fell in love with You--for you will always be You. I'll never, never get over _that_, my dear! You'll never, never know it; but I shall love You always till I die, and if I'm still Me after that, I shall keep right on loving you then, of course. You see, I didn't fall in love with you just to have you for myself. I fell in love with You! And that can never bother you at all nor ever be a shame to me that I love unsought, because you won't know, and because it's just an ocean of good-will, and every beat of my heart sends a new great wave of it toward you and Cora. I shall find happiness, I believe, in service--I am sure there will be times when I can serve you both. I love you both and I can serve her for You and you for her. This isn't a hysterical mood, or a fit of 'exaltation': I have thought it all out and I know that I can live up to it. You are the best thing that can ever come into her life, and everything I can do shall be to keep you there. I must be very, very careful with her, for talk and advice do not influence her much. You love her--she has accepted you, and it is beautiful for you both. It must be kept beautiful. It has all become so clear to me: You are just what she has always needed, and if by any mischance she lost you I do not know what would become----"
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