At the conclusion of the operation he looked at her. Her dress was canary. From the short loose sleeves lace fell that was repeated at the neck. There a yellow sapphire had been pinned. As he looked at her, she looked at him.
“I have something to say to you, Marie,” he began.
With an uplift of the chin she answered: “And I, Royal, have something to say to you.”
“The usual thing, I suppose. Well, shy a teacup at me if you like, but spare me a scene.”
As he spoke he seated himself. “Marie,” he at once resumed, “I shall have to take my mother up the Hudson shortly—”
The girl interrupted him. “Does Mrs. Annandale go too?”
The man’s cigar had gone out. He relighted it. “No,” he replied, “the last time I saw her she said something about going West.”
“Ah!” Marie exclaimed, and immediately with that curious intuition which women that really love possess she added, “to Dakota?”
“Perhaps,” replied Loftus with a puff. The surety of the shot amazed him, but of the amazement he gave no sign. “Perhaps, though I do not remember that she said just where she did intend to go.” He drew in a large mouthful of smoke, which leisurely he blew forth. It circled about her. She moved away. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, “I did not mean—” The girl made a gesture of indifference. “You see,” he began again, “the point is just here. My mother is not well. She rather wants me with her this summer. In the circumstances I thought you might like to go abroad.”
Marie, through half-closed eyes, cautiously peered at him. “Without you?” she asked.
Loftus nodded.
“For good?”
To this Loftus made no answer. Provided she went, though it were for bad, he did not much care.
Marie, who had been standing, crossed the room and recrossed it. A year before she had suggested the kitten. Where that had been the leopard had come. In her movements were the same supple ease, the same grace and alertness. Suddenly at the table where he sat she stopped, rested a hand on it and bending a little looked him in the face.
“Liar,” she muttered. “Liar! I know and so do you. Yes, I knew it almost from the first, but, though I knew it, I tried as hard to deceive myself as you did to deceive me. You never intended to marry me, not for a moment, not even at the moment when you called God to witness that you would.”
Her hand had gone from the table, from it and him she turned away.
Loftus, who at the arraignment had retreated a full inch in his chair, called after her. “It is untrue; what I said, I meant.”
Marie turned back. “Then if you meant it, marry me this night. If you have any honor, any whatever, a spark of it, you will; if not—”
She paused and looked at him. It was not this at all she had meant to say. She had meant to entreat him, to picture what their life might be, to tell him of her enveloping love, and that failing, to go, but to go without words, without reproaches, without suffering that which had been between them to be marred by vituperation and, so marred, to descend to the level of some coarse intrigue. But something, his manner, the manifest lie about his mother, the apparition of that other woman, battening on nerves overwrought had irritated her into entire forgetfulness of what she had meant to do and say.
The pause Loftus noticed. What was behind it he misconstrued. “Don’t mind me,” he encouragingly interjected. “Threaten away. It is so nice and well-bred. Yet I must be allowed to say that while I did intend to marry you, the intention has been rather weakened through just such scenes as this. Though, to be frank, it is not so much that I object to scenes as it is that, if scenes there must be, I prefer to make them myself.”
At the humor of that Marie ran her nails into her hands, dug them in. Without some such moxa it seemed to her that she might take and hurl the lamp at him, fire the place and, fate favoring, be calcinated with him there.
“And now that I have been frank,” he went on, “let me be franker. You and I have ceased to be able to hit it off. The blame for that I will, if you like, assume.”
Then he too paused. But not at all because he did not fully know what he meant to do and say.
“Marie,” he continued, putting a hand in a pocket as he spoke, “in the past year we have been more than friends. Friends at least let us remain. Friends do part, and for awhile we must. Your voice, like yourself, is charming. If I may advise, go and study abroad. Though if you prefer remain here. But, of course, whatever you do you will need money. I have brought some.”
In his hand now was a card case which he offered her. She took it, looked at it, opened it, then moving to a window she raised the sash and threw the card case into the night, yet so quickly and unexpectedly that Loftus had no time to interfere.
“That is an agreeable way of getting rid of twelve thousand dollars,” he remarked.
Yet, however lightly he affected to speak, the action annoyed him. Like all men of large means he was close. It seemed to him beastly to lose such a sum. He got up, went to the window and looked down. He could not see the case and he much wanted to go and look for it. But that for the moment Marie prevented.
“If it were twelve times twelve million,” she exclaimed, “I would do the same! Oh, Royal,” she cried, “don’t you know it is not your money I want;
