The Price She Paid [79]
``I'd not dare say it.''
``Or think it,'' said he.
She colored. ``What do you mean?'' she asked.
He did not reply.
``What do you mean, Mr. Keith?'' she urged.
``You are always asking me questions to which you already know the answer,'' said he.
``You're referring to a week or so ago, when I asked you why you disliked me?''
No answer. No sign of having heard. No outward sign of interest in anything, even in the cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth.
``Wasn't that it?'' she insisted.
``You are always asking me questions to which you already know the answer,'' repeated he.
``I am annoying you?''
No answer.
She laughed. ``Do you want me to go away and leave you in peace with that--law case--or whatever it is?''
``I don't like to be alone.''
``But anyone would do?--a dog?''
No reply.
``You mean, a dog would be better because it doesn't ask questions to which it knows the answer.''
No reply.
``Well, I have a pleasant-sounding voice. As I'm saying nothing, it may be soothing--like the sound of the waves. I've learned to take you as you are. I rather like your pose.''
No reply. No sign that he was even tempted to rise to this bait and protest.
``But you don't like mine,'' she went on. ``Yes, it is a pose. But I've got to keep it up, and to pretend to myself that it isn't. And it isn't altogether. I shall be a successful singer.''
``When?'' said he. Actually he was listening!
She answered: ``In--about two years, I think.''
No comment.
``You don't believe it?''
``Do you?'' A pause. ``Why ask these questions you've already answered yourself?''
``I'll tell you why,'' replied she, her face suddenly flushed with earnestness. ``Because I want you to help me. You help everyone else. Why not me?''
``You never asked me,'' said he.
``I didn't know I wanted it until just now--as I said it. But YOU must have known, because you are so much more experienced than I--and understand people--what's going on in their minds, deeper than they can see.'' Her tone became indignant, reproachful. ``Yes, you must have known I needed your help. And you ought to have helped me, even if you did dislike me. You've no right to dislike anyone as young as I.''
He was looking at her now, the intensely alive blue eyes sympathetic, penetrating, understanding. It was frightful to be so thoroughly understood--all one's weaknesses laid bare--yet it was a relief and a joy, too --like the cruel healing knife of the surgeon. Said he:
``I do not like kept women.''
She gasped, grew ghastly. It was a frightful insult, one for which she was wholly unprepared. ``You-- believe--that?'' she said slowly.
``Another of those questions,'' he said. And he looked calmly away, out over the sea, as if his interest in the conversation were at an end.
What should she say? How deny--how convince him? For convince him she must, and then go away and never permit him to speak to her again until he had apologized. She said quietly: ``Mr. Keith, you have insulted me.''
``I do not like kept women, either with or without a license,'' said he in the same even, indifferent way. ``When you ceased to be a kept woman, I would help you, if I could. But no one can help a kept woman.''
There was nothing to do but to rise and go away. She rose and went toward the house. At the veranda she paused. He had not moved. She returned. He was still inspecting the horizon, the cigarette depending from his lips--how DID he keep it alight? She said:
``Mr. Keith, I am sure you did not mean to insult me. What did you mean?''
``Another of those questions,'' said he.
``Honestly, I do not understand.''
``Then think. And when you have thought, you will understand.''
``But I have thought. I do not understand.''
``Then it would be useless to explain,'' said he. ``That is one of those vital things which, if one cannot understand them for oneself, one is hopeless--is beyond helping.''
``You mean I am not in earnest about my career?''
``Another of those
``Or think it,'' said he.
She colored. ``What do you mean?'' she asked.
He did not reply.
``What do you mean, Mr. Keith?'' she urged.
``You are always asking me questions to which you already know the answer,'' said he.
``You're referring to a week or so ago, when I asked you why you disliked me?''
No answer. No sign of having heard. No outward sign of interest in anything, even in the cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth.
``Wasn't that it?'' she insisted.
``You are always asking me questions to which you already know the answer,'' repeated he.
``I am annoying you?''
No answer.
She laughed. ``Do you want me to go away and leave you in peace with that--law case--or whatever it is?''
``I don't like to be alone.''
``But anyone would do?--a dog?''
No reply.
``You mean, a dog would be better because it doesn't ask questions to which it knows the answer.''
No reply.
``Well, I have a pleasant-sounding voice. As I'm saying nothing, it may be soothing--like the sound of the waves. I've learned to take you as you are. I rather like your pose.''
No reply. No sign that he was even tempted to rise to this bait and protest.
``But you don't like mine,'' she went on. ``Yes, it is a pose. But I've got to keep it up, and to pretend to myself that it isn't. And it isn't altogether. I shall be a successful singer.''
``When?'' said he. Actually he was listening!
She answered: ``In--about two years, I think.''
No comment.
``You don't believe it?''
``Do you?'' A pause. ``Why ask these questions you've already answered yourself?''
``I'll tell you why,'' replied she, her face suddenly flushed with earnestness. ``Because I want you to help me. You help everyone else. Why not me?''
``You never asked me,'' said he.
``I didn't know I wanted it until just now--as I said it. But YOU must have known, because you are so much more experienced than I--and understand people--what's going on in their minds, deeper than they can see.'' Her tone became indignant, reproachful. ``Yes, you must have known I needed your help. And you ought to have helped me, even if you did dislike me. You've no right to dislike anyone as young as I.''
He was looking at her now, the intensely alive blue eyes sympathetic, penetrating, understanding. It was frightful to be so thoroughly understood--all one's weaknesses laid bare--yet it was a relief and a joy, too --like the cruel healing knife of the surgeon. Said he:
``I do not like kept women.''
She gasped, grew ghastly. It was a frightful insult, one for which she was wholly unprepared. ``You-- believe--that?'' she said slowly.
``Another of those questions,'' he said. And he looked calmly away, out over the sea, as if his interest in the conversation were at an end.
What should she say? How deny--how convince him? For convince him she must, and then go away and never permit him to speak to her again until he had apologized. She said quietly: ``Mr. Keith, you have insulted me.''
``I do not like kept women, either with or without a license,'' said he in the same even, indifferent way. ``When you ceased to be a kept woman, I would help you, if I could. But no one can help a kept woman.''
There was nothing to do but to rise and go away. She rose and went toward the house. At the veranda she paused. He had not moved. She returned. He was still inspecting the horizon, the cigarette depending from his lips--how DID he keep it alight? She said:
``Mr. Keith, I am sure you did not mean to insult me. What did you mean?''
``Another of those questions,'' said he.
``Honestly, I do not understand.''
``Then think. And when you have thought, you will understand.''
``But I have thought. I do not understand.''
``Then it would be useless to explain,'' said he. ``That is one of those vital things which, if one cannot understand them for oneself, one is hopeless--is beyond helping.''
``You mean I am not in earnest about my career?''
``Another of those