THE dinner was almost gay. Each had her part to play and each was too clever to play it self-consciously. By common consent both Bylant and Pelham were ignored, and they talked of the past winter in New York, the summer distractions planned in Chelsea (in which Elsie promised Polly to take part if only for the sake of copy), and the new spring novels. The last subject afforded an opportunity to quarrel, which gave them a welcome release.
“I feel like a movie,” announced Polly, as they left the dining-room. “Come along, girls. We can all crowd into my car.”
“I can’t go, of course.” Gita bit her lip. “Must do the decent thing. What time do you suppose you’ll be back?”
“Round ten, probably.”
“I don’t think you should drive on lonely roads at night.”
“Nothing very lonely between here and Atlantic City, after we get out of that avenue of yours. But if you don’t want to stay alone—there’s always mah-jongg——”
“I detest mah-jongg. Run along. I’ll be all right.”
She shrugged her shoulders as the two girls ran upstairs to put on their things. She could hear the car, anyway. Easy enough to hide behind those thickly planted trees in the avenue.
“I’ll stop at the house and ask Geoff to go with us,” said Elsie, as the young gardener brought Polly’s roadster to the door. “Then he can take us to one of the hotels for supper. Polly says she feels like making a night of it.”
“Good idea,” said Gita coolly, and wondered what excuse Pelham would make.
She tapped softly on the door of the sick-room. The nurse whispered that her patient was sleeping soundly, for the first time without an opiate.
That duty done she sat down firmly with her novel; but after she had read one page four times wondered why anybody wasted time on fiction, and flung the really notable effort into a corner.
She resolved not to think and promptly began thinking.
Fine performance for her—sneaking out at night to meet a man and indulge in a semi-romantic episode on the salt marshes. They’d probably freeze. Better wear her fur coat. Look like a bear on its hind legs.
Not in the least did she feel like one of those old Gita Carterets. If they’d ever outraged their sense of decorum by doing such a thing and risked a cold in the head—thank heaven she never had colds—hoped Dr. Pelham wouldn’t sneeze—they’d have done it as a tribute to capitalized Romance . . . sake of one more enchanting memory . . . look back upon when suckling their first baby.
Doubted if they ever felt really romantic. Not enough imagination, probably. Merely sentimental.
Well, she didn’t feel romantic either. No ultimates to look forward to, no romance.
What on earth had possessed him to suggest such a thing? She could have got rid of Polly somehow and found plenty of opportunities to talk with him in the house or garden. Not because he wanted to make love to her—moonlight—solitude—night—all the rest of it. Including squawking ducks for chorus. Or was this the duck season? Or did they have wild ducks in New Jersey? She’d gone duck-hunting one night in California and it had been great fun although one got rather stiff.
She endeavored to concentrate on California. Gorgeous moonlight nights on the bay. Ferry-boats like fairy ships, glittering in the dark. Chain of lights “across the bay,” a necklace for the Queen Calafia Ordoñez de Montalvo had imagined far back in the centuries . . . Bare sharp hills. Fog moving in through the Golden Gate like a ship . . . California faded off the map.
Just an impulse, probably. Felt he had more to say and wanted to get it off his chest. No idea of making love to her; she need have no misgivings. He had a hot temper but a cold code of honor. Nor would he try to approach her obliquely. He had none of the subtlety of Eustace, the diabolic patience, the ability to cloak his desires and play a “wooing” game, while he watched for the right moment to strike. His self-control was of a different sort. Wonderful to break down that self-control, if things were different and she were different. But she had her own code.
Well, if their teeth didn’t chatter it would be something to remember when she was old. She really wanted to go more than anything else in the world. Oh, yes, wanted to go. Must have her drama—loved beauty, and the night was heavenly, in spite of the cold.