By degrees, through one process and another, Eugene had lost ground, but it was only in a nebulous way as yet, and not in anything tangible. If he had never turned his attention to anything else, had never wearied of any detail, and kept close to Colfax and to his own staff, he would have been safe. As it was, he began now to neglect them more than ever, and this could not fail to tell rather disastrously in the long run.
In the first place the prospects in connection with the Sea Island Construction Company were apparently growing brighter and brighter. It was one of those schemes which would take years and years to develop, but it did not look that way at first. Rather it seemed to be showing tangible evidences of accomplishment. The first year, after a good deal of money had been invested, considerable dredging operations were carried out, and dry land appeared in many places—a long stretch of good earth to the rear of the main beach whereon hotels and resorts of all sorts could be constructed. The boardwalk was started after a model prepared by Eugene, and approved—after modification—by the architect engaged, and a portion of the future great dining and dancing casinos was begun and completed, a beautiful building modeled on a combination of the Moorish, Spanish and Old Mission styles. A notable improvement in design had been effected in this scheme, for the color of Blue Sea, according to Eugene’s theory, was to be red, white, yellow, blue, and green, done in spirited yet simple outlines. The walls of all buildings were to be white and yellow, latticed with green. The roofs, porticos, lintels, piers, and steps were to be red, yellow, green, and blue. There were to be round, shallow Italian pools of concrete in many of the courts and interiors of the houses. The hotels were to be western modifications of the Giralda in Spain, each one a size smaller, or larger, than the other. Green spear pines and tall cone-shaped poplars were to be the prevailing tree decorations. The railroad, as Mr. Winfield promised, had already completed its spur and Spanish depot, which was beautiful. It looked truly as though Blue Sea would become what Winfield said it would become; the seaside resort of America.
The actuality of this progress fascinated Eugene so much that he gave, until Suzanne appeared, much more time than he really should have to the development of the scheme. As in the days when he first went with Summerfield, he worked of nights on exterior and interior layouts, as he called them—façades, ground arrangements, island improvements, and so on. He went frequently with Winfield and his architect in his auto to see how Blue Sea was getting on and to visit monied men, who might be interested. He drew up plans for ads and booklets, making romantic sketches and originating catch lines.
In the next place, after Suzanne appeared, he began to pay attention almost exclusively in his thoughts to her. He could not get her out of his head night or day. She haunted his thoughts in the office, at home, and in his dreams. He began actually to burn with a strange fever, which gave him no rest. When would he see her again? When would he see her again? When would he see her again? He could see her only as he danced with her at the boat club, as he sat with her in the swing at Daleview. It was a wild, aching desire which gave him no peace any more than any other fever of the brain ever does.
Once, not long after he and she had danced at the boat club together, she came with her mother to see how Angela was, and Eugene had a chance to say a few words to her in the studio, for they came after five in the afternoon when he was at home. Suzanne gazed at him wide-eyed, scarcely knowing what to think, though she was fascinated. He asked her eagerly where she had been, where she was going to be.
“Why,” she said gracefully, her pretty lips parted, “we’re going to Bentwood Hadley’s tomorrow. We’ll be there for a week, I fancy. Maybe longer.”
“Have you thought of me much, Suzanne?”
“Yes, yes! But you mustn’t, Mr. Witla. No, no. I don’t know what to think.”
“If I came to Bentwood Hadleys, would you be glad?”
“Oh, yes,” she said hesitatingly, “but you mustn’t come.”
Eugene was there that week-end. It wasn’t difficult to manage.
“I’m awfully tired,” he wrote to Mrs. Hadley. “Why don’t you invite me out?”
“Come!” came a telegram, and he went.
On this occasion, he was more fortunate than ever. Suzanne was there, out riding when he came, but, as he learned from Mrs. Hadley, there was a dance on at a neighboring country club. Suzanne with a number of others was going. Mrs. Dale decided to go, and invited Eugene. He seized the offer, for he knew he would get a chance to dance with his ideal. When they were going in to dinner, he met Suzanne in the hall.
“I am going with you,” he said eagerly. “Save a few dances for me.”
“Yes,” she said, inhaling her breath in a gasp.
They went, and he initialled her card in five places.
“We must be careful,” she pleaded. “Ma-ma won’t like it.”
He saw by this that she was beginning to understand, and would plot with him. Why was he luring her on? Why did she let him?
When he slipped his arm about her in the first dance he said, “At last!” And then: “I have waited for this so long.”
Suzanne made no reply.
“Look at me, Suzanne,” he pleaded.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Oh, look at me,” he urged, “once, please. Look in my eyes.”
“No, no,” she begged, “I can’t.”
“Oh, Suzanne,” he exclaimed, “I am crazy about you. I am mad. I have lost all reason. Your face is like a flower to me. Your eyes—I can’t tell you about your eyes. Look at me!”
“No,” she pleaded.
“It seems as though the days will never end in which I do not see you. I wait and wait. Suzanne, do I seem like a silly fool to you?”
“No.”
“I am counted sharp and able. They tell me I am brilliant. You are the most perfect thing that I have ever known. I think of you awake and asleep. I could paint a thousand pictures of you. My art seems to come back to me through you. If I live I will paint you in a hundred ways. Have you ever seen the Rossetti woman?”
“No.”
“He painted a hundred portraits of her. I shall paint a thousand of you.”
She lifted her eyes to look at him shyly, wonderingly, drawn by this terrific passion. His own blazed into hers. “Oh, look at me again,” he whispered, when she dropped them under the fire of his glance.
“I can’t,” she pleaded.
“Oh, yes, once more.”
She lifted her eyes and it seemed as though their souls would blend. He felt dizzy, and Suzanne reeled.
“Do you love me, Suzanne?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she trembled.
“Do you love me?”
“Don’t ask me now.”
The music ceased and Suzanne was gone.
He did not see her until much later, for she slipped away to think. Her soul was stirred as with a raging storm. It seemed as though her very soul was being torn up. She was tremulous, tumultuous, unsettled, yearning, eager. She came back after a time and they danced again, but she was calmer apparently. They went out on a balcony, and he contrived to say a few words there.
“You mustn’t,” she pleaded. “I think we are being watched.”
He left her, and on the way home in the auto he whispered: “I shall be on the west veranda tonight. Will you come?”
“I don’t know, I’ll try.”
He walked leisurely to that place later when all was still, and sat down to wait. Gradually the great house quieted. It was one and one-thirty, and then nearly two before the door opened. A figure slipped out, the lovely form of Suzanne, dressed as she had been at the ball, a veil of lace over her hair.
“I’m so afraid,” she said, “I scarcely know what I am doing. Are you sure no one will see us?”
“Let us walk down the path to the field.” It was the same way they had taken in the early spring when he had met her here before. In the west hung low a waning moon, yellow, sickle shaped, very large because of the hour.
“Do you remember when we were here before?”
“Yes.”
“I loved you then. Did you care for me?”
“No.”
They walked on under the trees, he holding her hand.
“Oh, this night, this night,” he said, the strain of his intense emotion wearying him.