Chapter 48
"Oh, yes, I did. And maybe I'm a predestined a.s.s. But every a.s.s has a pair of heels and I'm going to flourish mine very gaily from now on!"
She protested laughingly at his self-characterisation, and bent toward him a little, caressing his sleeve in appeal, or shaking it in protest as he denounced himself and promised to take the world more gaily in the future.
"You'll see," he remarked, rising to take his leave: "I may even call the bluff of some of your fluffy ultra-modern friends and try a few trial marriages with each of 'em----"
"Oh, Jim, you're absolutely horrid! As if my friends believed in such disgusting ideas!"
"They do--some of 'em."
"They don't!"
"Well, then, I do!" he announced so gravely that she had to look at him closely in the rather dim lamplight to see whether he was jesting.
She walked to the top of the staircase with him; let him take her into his arms; submitted to his kiss. Always a little confused by his demonstrations, nevertheless her hand retained his for a second longer, as though shyly reluctant to let him go.
"I am so glad you came," she said. "Don't neglect me any more."
And so he went his way.
His mother discovered him in the library, dressed for dinner.
Something, as he rose--his manner of looking at her, perhaps--warned her that they were not perfectly _en rapport_. Then the subtle, invisible antennae, exploring caressingly what is so palpable in the heart of man, told her that once more she was to deal with the girl in black.
When his mother was seated, he said: "I didn't know you had met Palla Dumont, mother."
Helen hesitated: "Mrs. Vance's friend? Oh,
"Do you like her?"
In her son's eyes she was aware of that subtle and unconscious appeal which all mothers of boys are, some day, fated to see and understand.
Sometimes the appeal is disguised, sometimes it is so subtle that only mothers are able to perceive it.
But what to do about it is the perennial problem. For between lack of sympathy and response there are many nuances; and opposition is always to be avoided.
Helen said, pleasantly, that the girl appeared to be amiable and interesting.
"I know her merely in that way," she continued. "We sit there sewing slings, pads, compresses, and bandages, and we gossip at random with our neighbours."
"I like her very much," said Jim.
"She does seem to be an attractive girl," said his mother carelessly....
"Are you going to Yama Farms for the week end?"
"No."
"Oh, I'm sorry. The Speedwells' party is likely to be such a jolly affair, and I hear there's lots of snow up there."
"I haven't met Mrs. Vance," said her son. "Is she nice?"
"Leila Vance? Why, of course."
"Who is she?"
"She married an emba.s.sy attache, Captain Vance. He was in the old army--killed at Mons four years ago."
"She and Palla are intimate?"
"I believe they are good friends," remarked his mother, deciding not to attempt to turn the current of conversation for the moment.
"Mother?"
"Yes, dear."
"I am quite sure I never met a girl I like as well."
Helen laughed: "That is a trifle extravagant, isn't it?"
"No.... I asked her to marry me."
Helen's heart stood still, then a bright flush stained her face.
"She refused me," said the boy.
His mother said very quietly: "Of course this is news to us, Jim."
"Yes, I didn't tell you. I couldn't, somehow. But I've told you now."
"Dearest," she said, dropping her hand over his, "don't think me unsympathetic if I say that it really is better that she refused you."
"I understand, mother."
"I hope you do."
"Oh, yes. But I don't think you do. Because I am still in love with her."
"You poor dear!"
"It's rotten luck, isn't it?"
"Time heals--" She checked herself, turned and kissed him.
"After all," she said, "a soldier learns how to take things."
And presently: "I do wish you'd go up to Yama Farms."
"That," he said, "would be the obvious thing to do. Anything to keep going and keep your mind ticking away until you're safely wound up again.... But I'm not going, dear."