**** was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen as his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and when he found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his rage, he sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for the use of the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his patient service; nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long before he arrived at the proposition that the queen could do no wrong.
'It's a losing game,' he said. 'I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers is in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double the stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn't the power, or the insight, or the training. Only the desire. She's cursed with the curse of Reuben. She won't do line-work, because it means real work; and yet she's stronger than I am. I'll make her understand that I can beat her on her own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn't care. She says I can only do blood and bones. I don't believe she has blood in her veins. All the same I lover her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her inordinate vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that shall be something like a Melancolia--"the Melancolia that transcends all wit." I'll do it at once, con--bless her.'
He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure. He took very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when she showed them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time was at hand when all the church bells in London could not ring Maisie back to him. Once or twice he said something to Binkie about 'hermaphroditic futilities,' but the little dog received so many confidences both from Torpenhow and **** that he did not trouble his tulip-ears to listen.
**** was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, and **** felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy stripping the small house across the Park, and packing her canvases, that she had not time for thought. **** went down to Dover and wasted a day there fretting over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the very last allow him one small kiss? He reflected that he might capture her by the strong arm, as he had seem women captured in the Southern Soudan, and lead her away; but Maisie would never be led. She would turn her gray eyes upon him and say, '****, how selfish you are!' Then his courage would fail him. It would be better, after all, to beg for that kiss.
Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. **** saw the trunks aboard, and went to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags were thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching them.
'You'll have a rough passage to-night,' said ****. 'It's blowing outside. Isuppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?'
'You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of things to consult you about. Oh, ****, you have been so good to me!--so good to me!'
'Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?'
'I can't tell a fib. It hasn't--in that way. But don't think I'm not grateful.'
'Damn the gratitude!' said ****, huskily, to the paddle-box.
'What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken.
Can't you wait till that day comes?'
'No, love. I want you unbroken--all to myself.'
Maisie shook her head. 'My poor ****, what can I say!'
'Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear Iwon't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're grateful.'
Maisie put her cheek forward, and **** took his reward in the darkness.
It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it was a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and **** stood abashed and tingling from head to toe.
'Good-bye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only--keep well and do good work,--specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to me if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the whatever-you-call-um girl, and--can't I have another kiss? No. You're quite right. Good-bye.'
A should told him that it was not seemly to charge of the mail-bag incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he followed her with his heart.
'And there's nothing--nothing in the wide world--to keep us apart except her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. I'll get Torp to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch already.'
Maisie stood where **** had left her till she heard a little gasping cough at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold flame.
'He kissed you!' she said. 'How could you let him, when he wasn't anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, let's go to the ladies' cabin. I'm sick,--deadly sick.'
'We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here. I don't like the smell of the engines. . . . Poor ****! He deserved one,--only one.
But I didn't think he'd frighten me so.'
**** returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio.
He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow entered, looking guilty.
'H'sh!' said he. 'Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my rooms, and I'll show you why.'
