The Pit [56]
She waited anxiously for his next words. She began to fear that she had trusted too much upon her assurance of his tact.
Corthell held out his hand again.
"It is good-night, then, not good-by."
"It is good-night," said Laura.
With the words he was gone, and Laura, entering the house, shut the door behind her with a long breath of satisfaction.
Page and Landry were still in the library. Laura joined them, and for a few moments the three stood before the fireplace talking about the play. Page at length, at the first opportunity, excused herself and went to bed. She made a great show of leaving Landry and Laura alone, and managed to convey the impression that she understood they were anxious to be rid of her.
"Only remember," she remarked to Laura severely, "to lock up and turn out the hall gas. Annie has gone to bed _long_ ago."
"I must dash along, too," declared Landry when Page was gone.
He buttoned his coat about his neck, and Laura followed him out into the hall and found an umbrella for him.
"You were beautiful to-night," he said, as he stood with his hand on the door knob. "Beautiful. I could not keep my eyes off of you, and I could not listen to anybody but you. And now," he declared, solemnly, "I will see your eyes and hear your voice all the rest of the night. I want to explain," he added, "about those hansoms--about coming home with Miss Page and Mrs. Wessels. Mr. Corthell--those were _his_ hansoms, of course. But I wanted an umbrella, and I gave the driver seventy-five cents."
"Why of course, of course," said Laura, not quite divining what he was driving at.
"I don't want you to think that I would be willing to put myself under obligations to anybody."
"Of course, Landry; I understand."
He thrilled at once.
"Ah," he cried, "you don't know what it _means_ to me to look into the eyes of a woman who really understands."
Laura stared, wondering just what she had said.
"Will you turn this hall light out for me, Landry?" she asked. "I never can reach."
He left the front door open and extinguished the jet in its dull red globe. Promptly they were involved in darkness.
"Good-night," she said. "Isn't it dark?"
He stretched out his hand to take hers, but instead his groping fingers touched her waist. Suddenly Laura felt his arm clasp her. Then all at once, before she had time to so much as think of resistance, he had put both arms about her and kissed her squarely on her cheek.
Then the front door closed, and she was left abruptly alone, breathless, stunned, staring wide-eyed into the darkness.
Her first sensation was one merely of amazement. She put her hand quickly to her cheek, first the palm and then the back, murmuring confusedly:
"What? Why?--why?"
Then she whirled about and ran up the stairs, her silks clashing and fluttering about her as she fled, gained her own room, and swung the door violently shut behind her. She turned up the lowered gas and, without knowing why, faced her mirror at once, studying her reflection and watching her hand as it all but scoured the offended cheek.
Then, suddenly, with an upward, uplifting rush, her anger surged within her. She, Laura, Miss Dearborn, who loved no man, who never conceded, never capitulated, whose "grand manner" was a thing proverbial, in all her pitch of pride, in her own home, her own fortress, had been kissed, like a school-girl, like a chambermaid, in the dark, in a corner.
And by--great heavens!--_Landry Court._ The boy whom she fancied she held in such subjection, such profound respect. Landry Court had dared, had dared to kiss her, to offer her this wretchedly commonplace and petty affront, degrading her to the level of a pretty waitress, making her ridiculous.
She stood rigid, drawn to her full height, in the centre of her bedroom, her fists tense at her sides, her breath short, her eyes flashing, her face aflame. From time to time her words, half smothered, burst from her.
"What does he _think_ I _am?_ How dared he? How dared he?"
All that she could say,
Corthell held out his hand again.
"It is good-night, then, not good-by."
"It is good-night," said Laura.
With the words he was gone, and Laura, entering the house, shut the door behind her with a long breath of satisfaction.
Page and Landry were still in the library. Laura joined them, and for a few moments the three stood before the fireplace talking about the play. Page at length, at the first opportunity, excused herself and went to bed. She made a great show of leaving Landry and Laura alone, and managed to convey the impression that she understood they were anxious to be rid of her.
"Only remember," she remarked to Laura severely, "to lock up and turn out the hall gas. Annie has gone to bed _long_ ago."
"I must dash along, too," declared Landry when Page was gone.
He buttoned his coat about his neck, and Laura followed him out into the hall and found an umbrella for him.
"You were beautiful to-night," he said, as he stood with his hand on the door knob. "Beautiful. I could not keep my eyes off of you, and I could not listen to anybody but you. And now," he declared, solemnly, "I will see your eyes and hear your voice all the rest of the night. I want to explain," he added, "about those hansoms--about coming home with Miss Page and Mrs. Wessels. Mr. Corthell--those were _his_ hansoms, of course. But I wanted an umbrella, and I gave the driver seventy-five cents."
"Why of course, of course," said Laura, not quite divining what he was driving at.
"I don't want you to think that I would be willing to put myself under obligations to anybody."
"Of course, Landry; I understand."
He thrilled at once.
"Ah," he cried, "you don't know what it _means_ to me to look into the eyes of a woman who really understands."
Laura stared, wondering just what she had said.
"Will you turn this hall light out for me, Landry?" she asked. "I never can reach."
He left the front door open and extinguished the jet in its dull red globe. Promptly they were involved in darkness.
"Good-night," she said. "Isn't it dark?"
He stretched out his hand to take hers, but instead his groping fingers touched her waist. Suddenly Laura felt his arm clasp her. Then all at once, before she had time to so much as think of resistance, he had put both arms about her and kissed her squarely on her cheek.
Then the front door closed, and she was left abruptly alone, breathless, stunned, staring wide-eyed into the darkness.
Her first sensation was one merely of amazement. She put her hand quickly to her cheek, first the palm and then the back, murmuring confusedly:
"What? Why?--why?"
Then she whirled about and ran up the stairs, her silks clashing and fluttering about her as she fled, gained her own room, and swung the door violently shut behind her. She turned up the lowered gas and, without knowing why, faced her mirror at once, studying her reflection and watching her hand as it all but scoured the offended cheek.
Then, suddenly, with an upward, uplifting rush, her anger surged within her. She, Laura, Miss Dearborn, who loved no man, who never conceded, never capitulated, whose "grand manner" was a thing proverbial, in all her pitch of pride, in her own home, her own fortress, had been kissed, like a school-girl, like a chambermaid, in the dark, in a corner.
And by--great heavens!--_Landry Court._ The boy whom she fancied she held in such subjection, such profound respect. Landry Court had dared, had dared to kiss her, to offer her this wretchedly commonplace and petty affront, degrading her to the level of a pretty waitress, making her ridiculous.
She stood rigid, drawn to her full height, in the centre of her bedroom, her fists tense at her sides, her breath short, her eyes flashing, her face aflame. From time to time her words, half smothered, burst from her.
"What does he _think_ I _am?_ How dared he? How dared he?"
All that she could say,