Chapter 27
When the child had ended and had taken leave of all, Boots also took his leave; and Selwyn rose, too, a troubled, careworn expression replacing the careless gaiety which had made him seem so young in Miss Erroll's youthful eyes.
"Wait, Boots," he said; "I'm going home with you." And, to Eileen, almost absently: "Good-night; I'm so very glad you are well again."
"Good-night," she said, looking up at him. The faintest sense of disappointment came over her--at what, she did not know. Was it because, in his completely altered face she realised the instant and easy detachment from herself, and what concerned her?--was it because other people, like Mr. Lansing--other interests--like those which so plainly, in his face, betrayed his preoccupation--had so easily replaced an intimacy which had seemed to grow newer and more delightful with every meeting?
What was it, then, that he found more interesting, more important, than their friends.h.i.+p, their companions.h.i.+p? Was she never to grow old enough, or wise enough, or experienced enough to exact--without exacting--his paramount consideration and interest? Was there no common level of mental equality where they could meet?--where termination of interviews might be mutual--might be fairer to her?
Now he went away, utterly detached from her and what concerned her--to seek other interests of which she knew nothing; absorbed in them to her utter exclusion, leaving her here with the long evening before her and nothing to do--because her eyes were not yet strong enough to use for reading.
Lansing was saying: "I'll drive as far as the club with you, and then you can drop me and come back later."
"Right, my son; I'll finish a letter and then come back--"
"Can't you write it at the club?"
"Not that letter," he replied in a low voice; and, turning to Eileen, smiled his absent, detached smile, offering his hand.
But she lay back, looking straight up at him.
"Are you going?"
"Yes; I have several--"
"Stay with me," she said in a low voice.
For a moment the words meant nothing; then blank surprise silenced him, followed by curiosity.
"Is there something you wished to tell me?" he asked.
"N-no."
His perplexity and surprise grew. "Wait a second, Boots," he said; and Mr. Lansing, being a fairly intelligent young man, went out and down the stairway.
"Now," he said, too kindly, too soothingly, "what is it, Eileen?"
"Nothing. I thought--but I don't care. Please go, Captain Selwyn."
"No, I shall not until you tell me what troubles you."
"I can't."
"Try, Eileen."
"Why, it is nothing; truly it is nothing.... Only I was--it is so early--only a quarter past
He stood there looking down at her, striving to understand.
"That is all," she said, flus.h.i.+ng a trifle; "I can't read and I can't sew and there's n.o.body here.... I don't mean to bother you--"
"Child," he exclaimed, "do you _want_ me to stay?"
"Yes," she said; "will you?"
He walked swiftly to the landing outside and looked down.
"Boots!" he called in a low voice, "I'm not going home yet. Don't wait for me at the Lenox."
"All right," returned Mr. Lansing cheerfully. A moment later the front door closed below. Then Selwyn came back into the library.
For an hour he sat there telling her the gayest stories and talking the most delightful nonsense, alternating with interesting incisions into serious subjects: which it enchanted her to dissect under his confident guidance.
Alert, intelligent, all aquiver between laughter and absorption, she had sat up among her silken pillows, resting her weight on one rounded arm, her splendid young eyes fixed on him to detect and follow and interpret every change in his expression personal to the subject and to her share in it.
His old self again! What could be more welcome? Not one shadow in his pleasant eyes, not a trace of pallor, of care, of that gray aloofness.
How jolly, how young he was after all!
They discussed, or laughed at, or mentioned and dismissed with a gesture a thousand matters of common interest in that swift hour--incredibly swift, unless the hall clock's deadened chimes were mocking Time itself with mischievous effrontery.
She heard them, the enchantment still in her eyes; he nodded, listening, meeting her gaze with his smile undisturbed. When the last chime had sounded she lay back among her cus.h.i.+ons.
"Thank you for staying," she said quite happily.
"Am I to go?"
Smilingly thoughtful she considered him from her pillows:
"Where were you going when I--spoiled it all? For you were going somewhere--out there"--with a gesture toward the darkness outside--"somewhere where men go to have the good times they always seem to have.... Was it to your club? What do men do there? Is it very gay at men's clubs?... It must be interesting to go where men have such jolly times--where men gather to talk that mysterious man-talk which we so often wonder at--and pretend we are indifferent. But we are very curious, nevertheless--even about the boys of Gerald's age--whom we laugh at and torment; and we can't help wondering how they talk to each other--what they say that is so interesting; for they somehow manage to convey that impression to us--even against our will.... If you stay, I shall never have done with chattering. When you sit there with one lazy knee so leisurely draped over the other, and your eyes laughing at me through your cigar-smoke, about a million ideas flash up in me which I desire to discuss with you.... So you had better go."
"I am happier here," he said, watching her.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then--then--am _I_, also, one of the 'good times' a man can have?--when he is at liberty to reflect and choose as he idles over his coffee?"
"A man is fortunate if you permit that choice."
"Are you serious? I mean a man, not a boy--not a dance or dinner partner, or one of the men one meets about--everywhere from pillar to post. Do you think me interesting to real men?--like you and Boots?"
"Yes," he said deliberately, "I do. I don't know how interesting, because--I never quite realised how--how you had matured.... That was my stupidity."
"Captain Selwyn!" in confused triumph; "you never gave me a chance; I mean, you always were nice in--in the same way you are to Drina.... I liked it--don't please misunderstand--only I knew there was something else to me--something more nearly your own age. It was jolly to know you were really fond of me--but youthful sisters grow faster than you imagine.... And now, when you come, I shall venture to believe it is not wholly to do me a kindness--but--a little--to do yourself one, too.
Is that not the basis of friends.h.i.+p?"
"Yes."
"Community and equality of interests?--isn't it?"