“Oh, Suzanne,” he said.
“No, no,” she breathed, drawing back.
“Oh, Suzanne,” he repeated, “may I tell you?”
“No, no,” she answered. “Don’t speak to me. Please don’t. Let’s just walk. You and I.”
He hushed, for her voice, though sad and fearsome, was imperious. He could not do less than obey this mood.
They went to a little country farmhouse which ranged along the track in lieu of a depot, and sang a quaint air from some old-time comic opera.
“Do you remember the first time when you came to play tennis with me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you know I felt a strange vibration before your coming and all during your playing. Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What is that, Suzanne?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“No, no, Mr. Witla, not now.”
“Mr. Witla?”
“It must be so.”
“Oh, Suzanne!”
“Let’s just think,” she pleaded, “it is so beautiful.”
They came to a station near Daleview, and walked over. On the way he slipped his arm about her waist, but, oh, so lightly.
“Suzanne,” he asked, with a terrible yearning ache in his heart, “do you blame me? Can you?”
“Don’t ask me,” she pleaded, “not now. No, no.”
He tried to press her a little more closely.
“Not now. I don’t blame you.”
He stopped as they neared the lawn and entered the house with a jesting air. Explanations about mixing in the crowd and getting lost were easy. Mrs. Dale smiled good naturedly. Suzanne went to her room.
Chapter 8
Having involved himself thus far, seized upon and made his own this perfect flower of life, Eugene had but one thought, and that was to retain it. Now, of a sudden, had fallen from him all the weariness of years. To be in love again. To be involved in such a love, so wonderful, so perfect, so exquisite, it did not seem that life could really be so gracious as to have yielded him so much. What did it all mean, his upward rise during all these years? There had been seemingly but one triumph after another since the bitter days in Riverwood and after. The World, Summerfield’s, The Kalvin Company, The United Magazine Corporation, Winfield, his beautiful apartment on the drive. Surely the gods were good. What did they mean? To give him fame, fortune and Suzanne into the bargain? Could such a thing really be? How could it be worked out? Would fate conspire and assist him so that he could be free of Angela—or——
The thought of Angela to him in these days was a great pain. At bottom Eugene really did not dislike her, he never had. Years of living with her had produced an understanding and a relationship as strong and as keen as it might well be in some respects. Angela had always fancied since the Riverwood days that she really did not love Eugene truly any more—could not, that he was too self-centered and selfish; but this on her part was more of an illusion than a reality. She did care for him in an unselfish way from one point of view, in that she would sacrifice everything to his interests. From another point of view it was wholly selfish, for she wanted him to sacrifice everything for her in return. This he was not willing to do and had never been. He considered that his life was a larger thing than could be encompassed by any single matrimonial relationship. He wanted freedom of action and companionship, but he was afraid of Angela, afraid of society, in a way afraid of himself and what positive liberty might do to him. He felt sorry for Angela—for the intense suffering she would endure if he forced her in some way to release him—and at the same time he felt sorry for himself. The lure of beauty had never for one moment during all these years of upward mounting effort been stilled.
It is curious how things seem to conspire at times to produce a climax. One would think that tragedies like plants and flowers are planted as seeds and grow by various means and aids to a terrible maturity. Roses of hell are some lives, and they shine with all the lustre of infernal fires.
In the first place Eugene now began to neglect his office work thoroughly, for he could not fix his mind upon it any more than he could upon the affairs of the Sea Island Company, or upon his own home and Angela’s illness. The morning after his South Beach experience with Suzanne and her curious reticence, he saw her for a little while upon the veranda of Daleview. She was not seemingly depressed, or at least, not noticeably so, and yet there was a gravity about her which indicated that a marked impression of some kind had been made upon her soul. She looked at him with wide frank eyes as she came out to him purposely to tell him that she was going with her mother and some friends to Tarrytown for the day.
“I have to go,” she said. “Mamma has arranged it by phone.”
“Then I won’t see you any more here?”
“No.”
“Do you love me, Suzanne?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” she declared, and walked wearily to an angle of the wall where they could not be seen.
He followed her quickly, cautiously.
“Kiss me,” he said, and she put her lips to his in a distraught frightened way. Then she turned and walked briskly off and he admired the robust swinging of her body. She was not tall, like himself, or small like Angela, but middle sized, full bodied, vigorous. He imagined now that she had a powerful soul in her, capable of great things, full of courage and strength. Once she was a little older, she would be very forceful and full of strong, direct thought.
He did not see her again for nearly ten days, and by that time he was nearly desperate. He was wondering all the time how he was to arrange this. He could not go on in this haphazard way, seeing her occasionally. Why she might leave town for the fall a little later and then what would he do? If her mother heard she would take her off to Europe and then would Suzanne forget? What a tragedy that would be! No, before that should happen, he would run away with her. He would realize all his investments and get away. He could not live without her. He must have her at any cost. What did the United Magazine Corporation amount to, anyway? He was tired of that work. Angela might have the Sea Island Realty Company’s stock, if he could not dispose of it advantageously, or if he could, he would make provision for her out of what he should receive. He had some ready money—a few thousand dollars. This and his art—he could still paint—would sustain them. He would go to England with Suzanne, or to France. They would be happy if she really loved him and he thought she did. All this old life could go its way. It was a dreary thing, anyhow, without love. These were his first thoughts.
Later, he came to have different ones, but this was after he had talked to Suzanne again. It was a difficult matter to arrange. In a fit of desperation he called up Daleview one day, and asked if Miss Suzanne Dale was there. A servant answered, and in answer to the “who shall I say” he gave the name of a young man that he knew Suzanne knew. When she answered he said: “Listen, Suzanne! Can you hear very well?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recognize my voice?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t pronounce my name, will you?”
“No.”
“Suzanne, I am crazy to see you. It has been ten days now. Are you going to be in town long?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“If anyone comes near you, Suzanne, simply hang up the receiver, and I will understand.”
“Yes.”
“If I came anywhere near your house in a car, could you come out and see me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, Suzanne!”
“I’m not sure. I’ll try. What time?”
“Do you know where the old fort road is, at Crystal Lake, just below you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where the ice house is near the road there?”
“Yes.”
“Could you come there?”
“What time?”
“At eleven tomorrow morning or two this afternoon or three.”
“I might at two today.”
“Oh, thank you for that. I’ll wait for you, anyhow.”
“All right. Good-bye.”
And she hung up the receiver.
Eugene rejoiced at the fortunate outcome of this effort without thinking at first of the capable manner in which she had handled the situation. Truly he said afterwards she must be very courageous to think so directly and act so quickly, for it must have been very trying to her. This love of his was so new. Her position was so very difficult. And yet, on this first call when she had been suddenly put in touch with him, she had shown no signs of trepidation. Her voice had been firm and even, much more so than his, for he was nervously excited. She had taken in the situation at once and fallen into the ruse quite readily. Was she as simple as she seemed? Yes and no. She was simply capable, he thought and her capability had acted through her simplicity instantly.
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