the pavilion, he came upon her sitting by a refreshment table.
Surprise and greetings over, he led her away into the grounds,
where they could talk without shouting down the music. From the
instant he spoke to her, she was his. He knew it. She showed it
in the proud humility of her eyes, in every caressing movement of
her proudly carried body, and in the way she hung upon his speech.
She was not the young girl as he had known her. She was a woman,
now, and Martin noted that her wild, defiant beauty had improved,
losing none of its wildness, while the defiance and the fire seemed
more in control. “A beauty, a perfect beauty,” he murmured
admiringly under his breath. And he knew she was his, that all he
had to do was to say “Come,” and she would go with him over the
world wherever he led.
Even as the thought flashed through his brain he received a heavy
blow on the side of his head that nearly knocked him down. It was
a man’s fist, directed by a man so angry and in such haste that the
fist had missed the jaw for which it was aimed. Martin turned as
he staggered, and saw the fist coming at him in a wild swing.
Quite as a matter of course he ducked, and the fist flew harmlessly
past, pivoting the man who had driven it. Martin hooked with his
left, landing on the pivoting man with the weight of his body
behind the blow. The man went to the ground sidewise, leaped to
his feet, and made a mad rush. Martin saw his passion-distorted
face and wondered what could be the cause of the fellow’s anger.
But while he wondered, he shot in a straight left, the weight of
his body behind the blow. The man went over backward and fell in a
crumpled heap. Jimmy and others of the gang were running toward
them.
Martin was thrilling all over. This was the old days with a
vengeance, with their dancing, and their fighting, and their fun.
While he kept a wary eye on his antagonist, he glanced at Lizzie.
Usually the girls screamed when the fellows got to scrapping, but
she had not screamed. She was looking on with bated breath,
leaning slightly forward, so keen was her interest, one hand
pressed to her breast, her cheek flushed, and in her eyes a great
and amazed admiration.
The man had gained his feet and was struggling to escape the
restraining arms that were laid on him.
“She was waitin’ for me to come back!” he was proclaiming to all
and sundry. “She was waitin’ for me to come back, an’ then that
fresh guy comes buttin’ in. Let go o’ me, I tell yeh. I’m goin’
to fix ‘m.”
“What’s eatin’ yer?” Jimmy was demanding, as he helped hold the
young fellow back. “That guy’s Mart Eden. He’s nifty with his
mits, lemme tell you that, an’ he’ll eat you alive if you monkey
with ‘m.”
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“He can’t steal her on me that way,” the other interjected.
“He licked the Flyin’ Dutchman, an’ you know HIM,” Jimmy went on
expostulating. “An’ he did it in five rounds. You couldn’t last a
minute against him. See?”
This information seemed to have a mollifying effect, and the irate
young man favored Martin with a measuring stare.
“He don’t look it,” he sneered; but the sneer was without passion.
“That’s what the Flyin’ Dutchman thought,” Jimmy assured him.
“Come on, now, let’s get outa this. There’s lots of other girls.
Come on.”
The young fellow allowed himself to be led away toward the
pavilion, and the gang followed after him.
“Who is he?” Martin asked Lizzie. “And what’s it all about,
anyway?”
Already the zest of combat, which of old had been so keen and
lasting, had died down, and he discovered that he was self-
analytical, too much so to live, single heart and single hand, so
primitive an existence.
Lizzie tossed her head.
“Oh, he’s nobody,” she said. “He’s just ben keepin’ company with
me.”
“I had to, you see,” she explained after a pause. “I was gettin’
pretty lonesome. But I never forgot.” Her voice sank lower, and
she looked straight before her. “I’d throw ‘m down for you any
time.”
Martin looking at her averted face, knowing that all he had to do
was to reach out his hand and pluck her, fell to pondering whether,
after all, there was any real worth in refined, grammatical
English, and, so, forgot to reply to her.
“You put it all over him,” she said tentatively, with a laugh.
“He’s a husky young fellow, though,” he admitted generously. “If
they hadn’t taken him away, he might have given me my hands full.”
“Who was that lady friend I seen you with that night?” she asked
abruptly.
“Oh, just a lady friend,” was his answer.
“It was a long time ago,” she murmured contemplatively. “It seems
like a thousand years.”
But Martin went no further into the matter. He led the
conversation off into other channels. They had lunch in the
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restaurant, where he ordered wine and expensive delicacies and
afterward he danced with her and with no one but her, till she was
tired. He was a good dancer, and she whirled around and around
with him in a heaven of delight, her head against his shoulder,
wishing that it could last forever. Later in the afternoon they
strayed off among the trees, where, in the good old fashion, she
sat down while he sprawled on his back, his head in her lap. He
lay and dozed, while she fondled his hair, looked down on his
closed eyes, and loved him without reserve. Looking up suddenly,
he read the tender advertisement in her face. Her eyes fluttered
down, then they opened and looked into his with soft defiance.
“I’ve kept straight all these years,” she said, her voice so low
that it was almost a whisper.
In his heart Martin knew that it was the miraculous truth. And at
his heart pleaded a great temptation. It was in his power to make
her happy. Denied happiness himself, why should he deny happiness
to her? He could marry her and take her down with him to dwell in
the grass-walled castle in the Marquesas. The desire to do it was
strong, but stronger still was the imperative command of his nature
not to do it. In spite of himself he was still faithful to Love.
The old days of license and easy living were gone. He could not
bring them back, nor could he go back to them. He was changed –
how changed he had not realized until now.
“I am not a marrying man, Lizzie,” he said lightly.
The hand caressing his hair paused perceptibly, then went on with
the same gentle stroke. He noticed her face harden, but it was
with the hardness of resolution, for still the soft color was in
her cheeks and she was all glowing and melting.
“I did not mean that – ” she began, then faltered. “Or anyway I
don’t care.”
“I don’t care,” she repeated. “I’m proud to be your friend. I’d
do anything for you. I’m made that way, I guess.”
Martin sat up. He took her hand in his. He did it deliberately,
with warmth but without passion; and such warmth chilled her.
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” she said.
“You are a great and noble woman,” he said. “And it is I who
should be proud to know you. And I am, I am. You are a ray of
light to me in a very dark world, and I’ve got to be straight with
you, just as straight as you have been.”
“I don’t care whether you’re straight with me or not. You could do
anything with me. You could throw me in the dirt an’ walk on me.
An’ you’re the only man in the world that can,” she added with a
defiant flash. “I ain’t taken care of myself ever since I was a
kid for nothin’.”
“And it’s just because of that that I’m not going to,” he said
gently. “You are so big and generous that you challenge me to
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equal generousness. I’m not marrying, and I’m not – well, loving
without marrying, though I’ve done my share of that in the past.
I’m sorry I came here to-day and met you. But it can’t be helped
now, and I never expected it would turn out this way.”
“But look here, Lizzie. I can’t begin to tell you how much I like
you. I do more than like you. I admire and respect you. You are
magnificent, and you are magnificently good. But what’s the use of
words? Yet there’s something I’d like to do. You’ve had a hard
life; let me make it easy for you.” (A joyous light welled into