The Price She Paid [84]
to most women that is not positively repulsive.''
``I think it is the most repulsive,'' said Mildred.
``Don't cant,'' replied he, unimpressed. ``It's not so repulsive to your sort of woman as manual labor-- or as any kind of work that means no leisure, no luxury and small pay.''
``I wonder,'' said Mildred. ``I--I'm afraid you're right. But I WON'T admit it. I don't dare.''
``That's the finest, truest thing I've ever heard you say,'' said Keith.
Mildred was pleased out of all proportion to the compliment. Said she with frank eagerness, ``Then I'm not altogether hopeless?''
``As a character, no indeed,'' replied he. ``But as a career-- I was about to say, you may set your mind at rest. I shall never try to collect for my services. I am doing all this solely out of obstinacy.''
``Obstinacy?'' asked the puzzled girl.
``The impossible attracts me. That's why I've never been interested to make a career in law or politics or those things. I care only for the thing that can't be done. When I saw you and studied you, as I study every new thing, I decided that you could not possibly make a career.''
``Why have you changed your mind?'' she interrupted eagerly.
``I haven't,'' replied he. ``If I had, I should have lost interest in you. Just as soon as you show signs of making a career, I shall lose interest in you. I have a friend, a doctor, who will take only cases where cure is impossible. Looking at you, it occurred to me that here was a chance to make an experiment more interesting than any of his. And as I have no other impossible task inviting me at present, I decided to undertake you--if you were willing.''
``Why do you tell me this?'' she asked. ``To discourage me?''
``No. Your vanity will prevent that.''
``Then why?''
``To clear myself of all responsibility for you. You understand--I bind myself to nothing. I am free to stop or to go on at any time.''
``And I?'' said Mildred.
``You must do exactly as I tell you.''
``But that is not fair,'' cried she.
``Why not?'' inquired he. ``Without me you have no hope--none whatever.''
``I don't believe that,'' declared she. ``It is not true.''
``Very well. Then we'll drop the business,'' said he tranquilly. ``If the time comes when you see that I'm your only hope, and if then I'm in my present humor, we will go on.''
And he lapsed into silence from which she soon gave over trying to rouse him. She thought of what he had said, studied him, but could make nothing of it. She let four days go by, days of increasing unrest and unhappiness. She could not account for herself. Donald Keith seemed to have cast a spell over her--an evil spell. Her throat gave her more and more trouble. She tried her voice, found that it had vanished. She examined herself in the glass, and saw or fancied that her looks were going--not so that others would note it, but in the subtle ways that give the first alarm to a woman who has beauty worth taking care of and thinks about it intelligently. She thought Mrs. Brindley was beginning to doubt her, suspected a covert uneasiness in Stanley. Her foundations, such as they were, seemed tottering and ready to disintegrate. She saw her own past with clear vision for the first time-- saw how futile she had been, and why Keith believed there was no hope for her. She made desperate efforts to stop thinking about past and future, to absorb herself in present comfort and luxury and opportunities for enjoyment. But Keith was always there--and to see him was to lose all capacity for enjoyment. She was curt, almost rude to him--had some vague idea of forcing him to stay away. Yet every time she lost sight of him, she was in terror until she saw him again.
She was alone on the small veranda facing the high- road. She happened to glance toward the station; her gaze became fixed, her body rigid, for, coming leisurely and pompously toward the house, was General Siddall, in the full panoply of his wonderful tailoring and haberdashery. She thought of flight, but instantly knew that flight
``I think it is the most repulsive,'' said Mildred.
``Don't cant,'' replied he, unimpressed. ``It's not so repulsive to your sort of woman as manual labor-- or as any kind of work that means no leisure, no luxury and small pay.''
``I wonder,'' said Mildred. ``I--I'm afraid you're right. But I WON'T admit it. I don't dare.''
``That's the finest, truest thing I've ever heard you say,'' said Keith.
Mildred was pleased out of all proportion to the compliment. Said she with frank eagerness, ``Then I'm not altogether hopeless?''
``As a character, no indeed,'' replied he. ``But as a career-- I was about to say, you may set your mind at rest. I shall never try to collect for my services. I am doing all this solely out of obstinacy.''
``Obstinacy?'' asked the puzzled girl.
``The impossible attracts me. That's why I've never been interested to make a career in law or politics or those things. I care only for the thing that can't be done. When I saw you and studied you, as I study every new thing, I decided that you could not possibly make a career.''
``Why have you changed your mind?'' she interrupted eagerly.
``I haven't,'' replied he. ``If I had, I should have lost interest in you. Just as soon as you show signs of making a career, I shall lose interest in you. I have a friend, a doctor, who will take only cases where cure is impossible. Looking at you, it occurred to me that here was a chance to make an experiment more interesting than any of his. And as I have no other impossible task inviting me at present, I decided to undertake you--if you were willing.''
``Why do you tell me this?'' she asked. ``To discourage me?''
``No. Your vanity will prevent that.''
``Then why?''
``To clear myself of all responsibility for you. You understand--I bind myself to nothing. I am free to stop or to go on at any time.''
``And I?'' said Mildred.
``You must do exactly as I tell you.''
``But that is not fair,'' cried she.
``Why not?'' inquired he. ``Without me you have no hope--none whatever.''
``I don't believe that,'' declared she. ``It is not true.''
``Very well. Then we'll drop the business,'' said he tranquilly. ``If the time comes when you see that I'm your only hope, and if then I'm in my present humor, we will go on.''
And he lapsed into silence from which she soon gave over trying to rouse him. She thought of what he had said, studied him, but could make nothing of it. She let four days go by, days of increasing unrest and unhappiness. She could not account for herself. Donald Keith seemed to have cast a spell over her--an evil spell. Her throat gave her more and more trouble. She tried her voice, found that it had vanished. She examined herself in the glass, and saw or fancied that her looks were going--not so that others would note it, but in the subtle ways that give the first alarm to a woman who has beauty worth taking care of and thinks about it intelligently. She thought Mrs. Brindley was beginning to doubt her, suspected a covert uneasiness in Stanley. Her foundations, such as they were, seemed tottering and ready to disintegrate. She saw her own past with clear vision for the first time-- saw how futile she had been, and why Keith believed there was no hope for her. She made desperate efforts to stop thinking about past and future, to absorb herself in present comfort and luxury and opportunities for enjoyment. But Keith was always there--and to see him was to lose all capacity for enjoyment. She was curt, almost rude to him--had some vague idea of forcing him to stay away. Yet every time she lost sight of him, she was in terror until she saw him again.
She was alone on the small veranda facing the high- road. She happened to glance toward the station; her gaze became fixed, her body rigid, for, coming leisurely and pompously toward the house, was General Siddall, in the full panoply of his wonderful tailoring and haberdashery. She thought of flight, but instantly knew that flight