The Pool in the Desert [30]
time I describe when we enjoyed Ingersoll Armour so much as at this one, when he lay in his nimbus half known and wholly suppressed, between us. There were later instances, perhaps, of deeper satisfaction, but they were more or less perplexed, and not unobscured by anxiety. That afternoon it was all to know and to be experienced, with just a delicious foretaste.
I said something presently about Lady Pilkey's picnic on the morrow, to which we had both been bidden.
'Shall I call for you?' I asked. 'You will ride, of course.'
'Thanks, but I've cried off--I'm going sketching.' Her eyes plainly added, 'with Ingersoll Armour,' but she as obviously shrank from the roughness of pitching him in that unconsidered way before us. For some reason I refrained from taking the cue. I would not lug him in either.
'That is a new accomplishment,' was as much as I felt I could say with dignity, and she responded:
'Yes, isn't it?'
I felt some slight indignation on Lady Pilkey's account. 'Do you really think you ought to do things like that at the eleventh hour?' I asked, but Dora smiled at a glance, the hypocrisy out of my face.
'What does anything matter?' she demanded.
I knew perfectly well the standard by which nothing mattered, and there was no use, of course, in going on pretending that I did not.
'I assured him that you didn't paint,' I said, accusingly.
'Oh, I had to--otherwise what was there to go upon? He would have been found only to be lost again. You did not contemplate that?' Miss Harris inquired sweetly.
'I should have thought it was the surest way of losing him.'
'I can't think why you should be so rude. He observes progress already.'
'With a view to claiming and holding him, would it be of any use,' I asked, 'for me to start in oils?'
Miss Harris eyed me calmly.
'I don't know,' she said, 'but it doesn't seem the same thing somehow. I think you had better leave it to me.'
'Indeed, I won't,' I said; 'there is too much in it,' and we smiled across the gulf of our friendly understanding.
I crossed to the mantelpiece and picked up one of the little wet panels. There was that in it which explained my friend's exultation much more plainly than words.
'That is what I am to show him tomorrow,' she exclaimed; 'I think I have done as he told me. I think it's pretty right.'
Whether it was pretty right or pretty wrong, she had taken in an extraordinary way an essence out of him. It wasn't of course good, but his feeling was reflected in it, at once so brilliantly and so profoundly that it was startling to see.
'Do you think he'll be pleased?' she asked, anxiously.
'I think he'll be astounded,' I said, reserving the rest, and she cried in her pleasure, 'Oh, you dear man!'
'I see you have taken possession of him,' I went on.
'Ah, body and soul,' Dora rejoined, and it must have been something like that. I could imagine how she did it; with what wiles of simplicity and candid good-fellowship she had drawn him to forgetfulness and response, and how presently his enthusiasm leaped up to answer hers and they had been caught altogether out of the plane of common relations, and he had gone away on that disgraceful bazaar pony with a ratified arrangement to return next day which had been almost taken for granted from the beginning.
I confess, though I had helped to bring it about, the situation didn't altogether please me. I did not dream of foolish dangers, but it seemed to take a little too much for granted; I found myself inwardly demanding whether, after all, a vivid capacity to make colour conscious was a sufficient basis on which to bring to Edward Harris's house a young man about whom we knew nothing whatever else. An instant's regard showed the scruple fraudulent, it fled before the rush of pleasure with which I gazed at the tokens he had left behind him. I fell back on my wonder, which was great, that Dora should have possessed the technique necessary to take him at a point where he could give her so much that was valuable.
'Oh, well,' she said when
I said something presently about Lady Pilkey's picnic on the morrow, to which we had both been bidden.
'Shall I call for you?' I asked. 'You will ride, of course.'
'Thanks, but I've cried off--I'm going sketching.' Her eyes plainly added, 'with Ingersoll Armour,' but she as obviously shrank from the roughness of pitching him in that unconsidered way before us. For some reason I refrained from taking the cue. I would not lug him in either.
'That is a new accomplishment,' was as much as I felt I could say with dignity, and she responded:
'Yes, isn't it?'
I felt some slight indignation on Lady Pilkey's account. 'Do you really think you ought to do things like that at the eleventh hour?' I asked, but Dora smiled at a glance, the hypocrisy out of my face.
'What does anything matter?' she demanded.
I knew perfectly well the standard by which nothing mattered, and there was no use, of course, in going on pretending that I did not.
'I assured him that you didn't paint,' I said, accusingly.
'Oh, I had to--otherwise what was there to go upon? He would have been found only to be lost again. You did not contemplate that?' Miss Harris inquired sweetly.
'I should have thought it was the surest way of losing him.'
'I can't think why you should be so rude. He observes progress already.'
'With a view to claiming and holding him, would it be of any use,' I asked, 'for me to start in oils?'
Miss Harris eyed me calmly.
'I don't know,' she said, 'but it doesn't seem the same thing somehow. I think you had better leave it to me.'
'Indeed, I won't,' I said; 'there is too much in it,' and we smiled across the gulf of our friendly understanding.
I crossed to the mantelpiece and picked up one of the little wet panels. There was that in it which explained my friend's exultation much more plainly than words.
'That is what I am to show him tomorrow,' she exclaimed; 'I think I have done as he told me. I think it's pretty right.'
Whether it was pretty right or pretty wrong, she had taken in an extraordinary way an essence out of him. It wasn't of course good, but his feeling was reflected in it, at once so brilliantly and so profoundly that it was startling to see.
'Do you think he'll be pleased?' she asked, anxiously.
'I think he'll be astounded,' I said, reserving the rest, and she cried in her pleasure, 'Oh, you dear man!'
'I see you have taken possession of him,' I went on.
'Ah, body and soul,' Dora rejoined, and it must have been something like that. I could imagine how she did it; with what wiles of simplicity and candid good-fellowship she had drawn him to forgetfulness and response, and how presently his enthusiasm leaped up to answer hers and they had been caught altogether out of the plane of common relations, and he had gone away on that disgraceful bazaar pony with a ratified arrangement to return next day which had been almost taken for granted from the beginning.
I confess, though I had helped to bring it about, the situation didn't altogether please me. I did not dream of foolish dangers, but it seemed to take a little too much for granted; I found myself inwardly demanding whether, after all, a vivid capacity to make colour conscious was a sufficient basis on which to bring to Edward Harris's house a young man about whom we knew nothing whatever else. An instant's regard showed the scruple fraudulent, it fled before the rush of pleasure with which I gazed at the tokens he had left behind him. I fell back on my wonder, which was great, that Dora should have possessed the technique necessary to take him at a point where he could give her so much that was valuable.
'Oh, well,' she said when