Elmer was fascinated by her unawakenedness. While he continued to be devoted to Sharon, over her shoulder he was always looking at Lily’s pale sweetness, and his lips were moist.
II
They sat on the beach by moonlight, Sharon and Elmer, the night before the opening service.
All of Clontar, with its mile of comfortable summer villas and gingerbread hotels, was excited over the tabernacle, and the Chamber of Commerce had announced, “We commend to the whole Jersey coast this high-class spiritual feature, the latest addition to the manifold attractions and points of interest at the snappiest of all summer colonies.”
A choir of two hundred had been coaxed in, and some of them had been persuaded to buy their own robes and mortar boards.
Near the sand dune against which Sharon and Elmer lolled was the tabernacle, over which the electric cross turned solemnly, throwing its glare now on the rushing surf, now across the bleak sand.
“And it’s mine!” Sharon trembled. “I’ve made it! Four thousand seats, and I guess it’s the only Christian tabernacle built out over the water! Elmer, it almost scares me! So much responsibility! Thousands of poor troubled souls turning to me for help, and if I fail them, if I’m weak or tired or greedy, I’ll be murdering their very souls. I almost wish I were back safe in Virginia!”
Her enchanted voice wove itself with the menace of the breakers, feeble against the crash of broken waters, passionate in the lull, while the great cross turned its unceasing light.
“And I’m ambitious. Elmer. I know it. I want the world. But I realize what an awful danger that is. But I never had anybody to train me. I’m just nobody. I haven’t any family, any education. I’ve had to do everything for myself, except what Cecil and you and another man or two have done, and maybe you-all came too late. When I was a kid, there was no one to tell me what a sense of honor was. But—Oh. I’ve done things! Little Katie Jonas of Railroad Avenue—little Katie with her red flannel skirt and torn stockings, fighting the whole Killarney Street gang and giving Pup Monahan one in the nose, by Jiminy! And not five cents a year, even for candy. And now it’s mine, that tabernacle there—look at it!—that cross, that choir you hear practising! Why, I’m the Sharon Falconer you read about! And tomorrow I become—oh, people reaching for me—me healing ’em—No! It frightens me! It can’t last. Make it last for me, Elmer! Don’t let them take it away from me!”
She was sobbing, her head on his lap, while he comforted her clumsily. He was slightly bored. She was heavy, and though he did like her, he wished she wouldn’t go on telling that Katie-Jonas-Utica story.
She rose to her knees, her arms out to him, her voice hysteric against the background of the surf:
“I can’t do it! But you—I’m a woman. I’m weak. I wonder if I oughtn’t to stop thinking I’m such a marvel, if I oughtn’t to let you run things and just stand back and help you? Ought I?”
He was overwhelmed by her good sense, but he cleared his throat and spoke judiciously:
“Well, now I’ll tell you. Personally I’d never’ve brought it up, but since you speak of it yourself—I don’t admit for a minute that I’ve got any more executive ability or oratory than you have—probably not half as much. And after all, you did start the show; I came in late. But same time, while a woman can put things over just as good as a man, or better, for a while, she’s a woman, and she isn’t built to carry on things like a man would, see how I mean?”
“Would it be better for the Kingdom if I forgot my ambition and followed you?”
“Well, I don’t say it’d be better. You’ve certainly done fine, honey. I haven’t got any criticisms. But same time, I do think we ought to think it over.”
She had remained still, a kneeling silver statue. Now she dropped her head against his knees, crying:
“I can’t give it up! I can’t! Must I?”
He was conscious that people were strolling near. He growled, “Say, for goodness’ sake, Shara, don’t holler and carry on like that! Somebody might hear!”
She sprang up. “Oh, you fool! You fool!”
She fled from him, along the sands, through the rays of the revolving cross, into the shadow. He angrily rubbed his back against the sand dune and grumbled:
“Damn these women! All alike, even Shary; always getting temperamental on you about nothing at all! Still, I did kind of go off half cocked, considering she was just beginning to get the idea of letting me boss the show. Oh, hell, I’ll jolly her out of it!”
He took off his shoes, shook the sand out of them, and rubbed the sole of one stocking foot slowly, agreeably, for he was conceiving a thought.
If Sharon was going to pull stuff like that on him, he ought to teach her a lesson.
Choir practise was over. Why not go back to the house and see what Lily Anderson was doing?
There was a nice kid, and she admired him—she’d never dare bawl him out.
III
He tiptoed to Lily’s virgin door and tapped lightly.
“Yes?”
He dared not speak—Sharon’s door, in the bulky old house they had taken in Clontar, was almost opposite. He tapped again, and when Lily came to the door, in a kimono, he whispered, “Shhh! Everybody asleep. May I come in just a second? Something important to ask
