The Conflict [94]
that? You oughtn't to. And you will teach me better. You can make of me what you please, as I told you yesterday. I only half meant it then. Now--it's true, through and through.''
Victor glanced round, saw near at hand the bench he was seeking. ``Let's sit down here,'' said he. ``I'm rather tired. I slept little and I've been walking all morning. And you look tired, also.''
``After yesterday afternoon I couldn't sleep,'' said she.
When they were seated he looked at her with an expression that seemed to say: ``I have thrown open the windows of my soul. Throw open yours; and let us look at each other as we are, and speak of things as they are.'' She suddenly flung herself against his breast and as he clasped her she said:
``No--no! Let's not reason coldly about things, Victor. Let's feel--let's LIVE!''
It was several minutes--and not until they had kissed many times--before he regained enough self- control to say: ``This simply will not do, Jane. How can we discuss things calmly? You sit there''--he pushed her gently to one end of the bench--``and I'll sit at this end. Now!''
``I love you, Victor! With your arms round me I am happy--and SO strong!''
``With my arms round you I'm happy, I'll admit,'' said he. ``But--oh, so weak! I have the sense that I am doing wrong--that we are both doing wrong.''
``Why? Aren't you free?''
``No, I am not free. As I've told you, I belong to a cause--to a career.''
``But I won't hinder you there. I'll help you.''
``Why go over that again? You know better--I know better.'' Abruptly, ``Your father--what time does he get home for dinner?''
``He didn't go down town to-day,'' replied Jane. ``He's not well--not at all well.''
Victor looked baffled. ``I was about to propose that we go straight to him.''
If he had been looking at Jane, he might have seen the fleeting flash of an expression that betrayed that she had suspected the object of his inquiry.
``You will not go with me to your father?''
``Not when he is ill,'' said she. ``If we told him, it might kill him. He has ambitions--what he regards as ambitions--for me. He admires you, but--he doesn't admire your ideas.''
``Then,'' said Victor, following his own train of thought, ``we must fight this out between ourselves. I was hoping I'd have your father to help me. I'm sure, as soon as you faced him with me, you'd realize that your feeling about me is largely a delusion.''
``And you?'' said Jane softly. ``Your feeling about me--the feeling that made you kiss me--was that delusion?''
``It was--just what you saw,'' replied he, ``and nothing more. The idea of marrying you--of living my life with you doesn't attract me in the least. I can't see you as my wife.'' He looked at her impatiently. ``Have you no imagination? Can't you see that you could not change, and become what you'd have to be if you lived with me?''
``You can make of me what you please,'' repeated she with loving obstinacy.
``That is not sincere!'' cried he. ``You may think it is, but it isn't. Look at me, Jane.''
``I haven't been doing anything else since we met,'' laughed she.
``That's better,'' said he. ``Let's not be solemn. Solemnity is pose, and when people are posing they get nowhere. You say I can make of you what I please. Do you mean that you are willing to become a woman of my class--to be that all your life--to bring up your children in that way--to give up your fashionable friends--and maid--and carriages--and Paris clothes--to be a woman who would not make my associates and their families uncomfortable and shy?''
She was silent. She tried to speak, but lifting her eyes before she began her glance encountered his and her words died upon her lips.
``You know you did not mean that,'' pursued he. ``Now, I'll tell you what you did mean. You meant that after you and I were married--or engaged--perhaps you did not intend to go quite so far as marriage just yet.''
The color crept into her averted face.
``Look at me!'' he commanded laughingly.
With an
Victor glanced round, saw near at hand the bench he was seeking. ``Let's sit down here,'' said he. ``I'm rather tired. I slept little and I've been walking all morning. And you look tired, also.''
``After yesterday afternoon I couldn't sleep,'' said she.
When they were seated he looked at her with an expression that seemed to say: ``I have thrown open the windows of my soul. Throw open yours; and let us look at each other as we are, and speak of things as they are.'' She suddenly flung herself against his breast and as he clasped her she said:
``No--no! Let's not reason coldly about things, Victor. Let's feel--let's LIVE!''
It was several minutes--and not until they had kissed many times--before he regained enough self- control to say: ``This simply will not do, Jane. How can we discuss things calmly? You sit there''--he pushed her gently to one end of the bench--``and I'll sit at this end. Now!''
``I love you, Victor! With your arms round me I am happy--and SO strong!''
``With my arms round you I'm happy, I'll admit,'' said he. ``But--oh, so weak! I have the sense that I am doing wrong--that we are both doing wrong.''
``Why? Aren't you free?''
``No, I am not free. As I've told you, I belong to a cause--to a career.''
``But I won't hinder you there. I'll help you.''
``Why go over that again? You know better--I know better.'' Abruptly, ``Your father--what time does he get home for dinner?''
``He didn't go down town to-day,'' replied Jane. ``He's not well--not at all well.''
Victor looked baffled. ``I was about to propose that we go straight to him.''
If he had been looking at Jane, he might have seen the fleeting flash of an expression that betrayed that she had suspected the object of his inquiry.
``You will not go with me to your father?''
``Not when he is ill,'' said she. ``If we told him, it might kill him. He has ambitions--what he regards as ambitions--for me. He admires you, but--he doesn't admire your ideas.''
``Then,'' said Victor, following his own train of thought, ``we must fight this out between ourselves. I was hoping I'd have your father to help me. I'm sure, as soon as you faced him with me, you'd realize that your feeling about me is largely a delusion.''
``And you?'' said Jane softly. ``Your feeling about me--the feeling that made you kiss me--was that delusion?''
``It was--just what you saw,'' replied he, ``and nothing more. The idea of marrying you--of living my life with you doesn't attract me in the least. I can't see you as my wife.'' He looked at her impatiently. ``Have you no imagination? Can't you see that you could not change, and become what you'd have to be if you lived with me?''
``You can make of me what you please,'' repeated she with loving obstinacy.
``That is not sincere!'' cried he. ``You may think it is, but it isn't. Look at me, Jane.''
``I haven't been doing anything else since we met,'' laughed she.
``That's better,'' said he. ``Let's not be solemn. Solemnity is pose, and when people are posing they get nowhere. You say I can make of you what I please. Do you mean that you are willing to become a woman of my class--to be that all your life--to bring up your children in that way--to give up your fashionable friends--and maid--and carriages--and Paris clothes--to be a woman who would not make my associates and their families uncomfortable and shy?''
She was silent. She tried to speak, but lifting her eyes before she began her glance encountered his and her words died upon her lips.
``You know you did not mean that,'' pursued he. ``Now, I'll tell you what you did mean. You meant that after you and I were married--or engaged--perhaps you did not intend to go quite so far as marriage just yet.''
The color crept into her averted face.
``Look at me!'' he commanded laughingly.
With an