The Price She Paid [75]
even in tete-a-tete conversations, that his thoughts had been elsewhere. He made no pretense of being other than he was--an indifferent man who came because it did not especially matter to him where he was. Sometimes his silence and his indifference annoyed Mildred; again--thanks to her profound and reckless contentment--she was able to forget that he was along. He seemed to be and probably was about forty years old. His head was beautifully shaped, the line of its profile--front, top, and back--being perfect in intellectuality, strength and symmetry. He was rather under the medium height, about the same height as Mildred herself. He was extremely thin and loosely built, and his clothes seemed to hang awry, giving him an air of slovenliness which became surprising when one noted how scrupulously neat and clean he was. His brown hair, considerably tinged with rusty gray, grew thinly upon that beautiful head. His skin was dry and smooth and dead white. This, taken with the classic regularity of his features, gave him an air of lifelessness, of one burnt out by the fire of too much living; but whether the living had been done by Keith himself or by his immediate ancestors appearances did not disclose. This look of passionless, motionless repose, like classic sculpture, was sharply and startlingly belied by a pair of really wonderful eyes-- deeply and intensely blue, brilliant, all seeing, all comprehending, eyes that seemed never to sleep, seemed the ceaselessly industrious servants of a brain that busied itself without pause. The contrast between the dead white calm of his face, the listlessness of his relaxed figure, and these vivid eyes, so intensely alive, gave to Donald Keith's personality an uncanniness that was most disagreeable to Mildred.
``That's what fascinates me,'' said Cyrilla, when they were discussing him one day.
``Fascinates!'' exclaimed Mildred. ``He's tiresome-- when he isn't rude.''
``Rude?''
``Not actively rude but, worse still, passively rude.''
``He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could imagine myself falling in love,'' said Mrs. Brindley.
Mildred laughed in derision. ``Why, he's a dead man!'' cried she.
``You don't understand,'' said Cyrilla. ``You've never lived with a man.'' She forgot completely, as did Mildred herself, so completely had Mrs. Siddall returned to the modes and thoughts of a girl. ``At home--to live with--you want only reposeful things. That is why the Greeks, whose instincts were unerring, had so much reposeful statuary. One grows weary of agitating objects. They soon seem hysterical and shallow. The same thing's true of persons. For permanent love and friendship you want reposeful men-- calm, strong, silent. The other kind either wear you out or wear themselves out with you.''
``You forget his eyes,'' put in Stanley. ``Did you ever see such eyes!''
``Yes, those eyes of his!'' cried Mildred. ``You certainly can't call them reposeful, Mrs. Brindley.''
Mrs. Brindley did not seize the opportunity to convict her of inconsistency. Said she:
``I admit the eyes. They're the eyes of the kind of man a woman wants, or another man wants in his friend. When Keith looks at you, you feel that you are seeing the rarest being in the world--an absolutely reliable person. When I think of him I think of reliable, just as when you think of the sun you think of brightness.''
``I had no idea it was so serious as this,'' teased Stanley.
``Nor had I,'' returned Cyrilla easily, ``until I began to talk about him. Don't tell him, Mr. Baird, or he might take advantage of me.''
The idea amused Stanley. ``He doesn't care a rap about women,'' said he. ``I hear he has let a few care about him from time to time, but he soon ceased to be good-natured. He hates to be bored.''
As he came just then, they had to find another subject. Mildred observed him with more interest. She had learned to have respect for Mrs. Brindley's judgments. But she soon gave over watching him. That profound calm, those eyes concentrating all the life of
``That's what fascinates me,'' said Cyrilla, when they were discussing him one day.
``Fascinates!'' exclaimed Mildred. ``He's tiresome-- when he isn't rude.''
``Rude?''
``Not actively rude but, worse still, passively rude.''
``He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could imagine myself falling in love,'' said Mrs. Brindley.
Mildred laughed in derision. ``Why, he's a dead man!'' cried she.
``You don't understand,'' said Cyrilla. ``You've never lived with a man.'' She forgot completely, as did Mildred herself, so completely had Mrs. Siddall returned to the modes and thoughts of a girl. ``At home--to live with--you want only reposeful things. That is why the Greeks, whose instincts were unerring, had so much reposeful statuary. One grows weary of agitating objects. They soon seem hysterical and shallow. The same thing's true of persons. For permanent love and friendship you want reposeful men-- calm, strong, silent. The other kind either wear you out or wear themselves out with you.''
``You forget his eyes,'' put in Stanley. ``Did you ever see such eyes!''
``Yes, those eyes of his!'' cried Mildred. ``You certainly can't call them reposeful, Mrs. Brindley.''
Mrs. Brindley did not seize the opportunity to convict her of inconsistency. Said she:
``I admit the eyes. They're the eyes of the kind of man a woman wants, or another man wants in his friend. When Keith looks at you, you feel that you are seeing the rarest being in the world--an absolutely reliable person. When I think of him I think of reliable, just as when you think of the sun you think of brightness.''
``I had no idea it was so serious as this,'' teased Stanley.
``Nor had I,'' returned Cyrilla easily, ``until I began to talk about him. Don't tell him, Mr. Baird, or he might take advantage of me.''
The idea amused Stanley. ``He doesn't care a rap about women,'' said he. ``I hear he has let a few care about him from time to time, but he soon ceased to be good-natured. He hates to be bored.''
As he came just then, they had to find another subject. Mildred observed him with more interest. She had learned to have respect for Mrs. Brindley's judgments. But she soon gave over watching him. That profound calm, those eyes concentrating all the life of