Part 57 (1/2)
The intentions of men are seldom more serious than they have to be.
But they all were helplessly, hopelessly caught in the magic, gossamer web of Athalie's beauty and personal charm; and some merely kicked and buzzed and some tried to rend the frail rainbow fabric, and some struggled silently against they knew not what--themselves probably.
And some, like Dane, hung motionless, enmeshed, knowing that to struggle was futile. And some, like Clive, were still lying under her jewelled feet in the very centre of the sorcery, so far silent and unstirring, awaiting to see whether the grace of G.o.d would fall upon them or the _coup-de-grace_ that ended all. Eventually, however, like all other men, Clive gave signs of life and impatience.
”_Can't_ you love me, Athalie?” he said abruptly one night, when they had returned from the theatre and he had already taken his leave--and had come back from the door to take it again more tenderly. The girl let him kiss her.
She, in her clinging, sparkling evening gown was standing by her crystal, the fingers of one hand lightly poised upon it, looking down at it.
”Love you, Clive,” she repeated in smiling surprise. ”Why, I do, you dear, foolish boy. I've admitted it to you. Also haven't you just kissed me?”
”I know.... But I mean--couldn't you love me above all other men--above everything in this world--”
”But I _do_! Were you annoyed because I was silly with Cecil to-night?”
”No.... I understand. You simply can't help turning everybody's head.
It's in you,--it's part of you--”
”I'm merely having a good time,” she protested. ”It means no more than you see, when I flirt with other men.... It never goes any farther--except--once or twice I have let men kiss me.... Only two or three.... Before you came back, of course--”
”I didn't know that,” he said sullenly.
”Didn't you? Then the men were more decent than I supposed.... Yes, I let John Lyndhurst kiss me once. And Francis Hargrave did it.... And Jim Allys tried to, against my wishes--but he never attempted it after that.”
She had been looking down again at the crystal while speaking; her att.i.tude was penitential, but the faint smile on her lips adorably mischievous. Presently she glanced up at him to see how he was taking it. He must have been taking it very badly, for:
”Clive!” she said, startled; ”are you really annoyed with me?”
The gathering scowl faded and he forced a smile. Then the frown returned; he flung one arm around her supple waist and gathered both her hands into his, holding them closely imprisoned.
”You _must_ love!” he said almost roughly.
”My dear! I've told you that I do love you.”
”And I tell you you don't! Your calm and cheerful friends.h.i.+p for me isn't love!”
”Oh. What else is it, please?”
He kissed her on the mouth. She suffered his lips again without flinching, then drew back laughingly to avoid him.
”Why are you becoming so very demonstrative?” she asked. ”If you are not careful it will become a horrid habit with you.”
”Does it mean nothing more than a habit to you?” he asked, unsmilingly.
”It means that I care enough for you to let you do it more than once, doesn't it?”
He shrugged and turned his face toward the window:
”And you believe that you love me,” he said, sullenly and partly to himself.
”You amazingly sulky man, _what_ are you muttering to yourself?” she demanded, bending forward and across his shoulder to see his face which was still turned from her. He swung about and caught her fiercely in his arms; and the embrace left her breathless and flushed.