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The Danger Mark
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"Shall I say it?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, unless you and I find each other intellectually satisfactory."
"You said only a man—in love with a woman—could find her interesting in that way."
"Yes. What of it?"
"Nothing.... Only I'm afraid you'll have to froth, then," she said, laughing. "I haven't any intention of falling in love with you, Duane, and you'll find me stupid if I don't. Do you know that what you intimate is very horrid?"
"Why?"
"Yes, it is. Besides, it's a sort of threat–"
"A threat?"
"Certainly. You threaten to—you know perfectly well what you threaten to do unless I immediately consider the possibility of our—caring for each other—sentimentally."
"But what do you care if you don't care?"
"I—don't. All the same it's horrid and—and unfair. Suppose I was frothy and behaved–"
"Misbehaved?"
"Yes. Just because you wouldn't agree to take a sentimental interest in me?"
"I would agree! I'll agree now!"
"Suppose you wouldn't?"
"I can't imagine–"
"Oh, Duane, be honest! And I'll tell you flatly—if you do misbehave. Just because I don't particularly desire to rush into your arms–"
"But I haven't threatened to."
Unconsciously she laid her hand on his arm again, slipping it a little way under.
"You're just as you were years ago—just the dearest of playmates. We're not too old to play, are we?"
"I can't with you; it's too dangerous."
"What nonsense! Yes, you can. You like me for my intelligence in spite of what you say about men and women–"
"I wouldn't care for your intelligence if I were not in–"
"Duane, stop, please!"
"In danger," he continued blandly, "of proving my proposition."
"You are insufferable. I am as intelligent as you."
"I know it, but it wouldn't attract me unless–"
"It ought to," she said hastily. "And, Duane, I'm going to make you take me into account. I'm going to exercise a man's privilege with you by—by saying frankly—several things–"
"What things?"
The amused mockery in his voice gave her courage.
"For one thing, I'm going to tell you that people—gossip—that there are—are–"
"Rumours?" he asked in pretended anxiety.
"Yes.... About you and—of course they are silly and contemptible; but what's the use of being attentive enough to a woman—careless enough to give colour to them?"
After an interval he said: "Perhaps you'll tell me who beside myself these rumours concern?"
"You know, don't you?"
"There might be several," he said coolly. "Who is it?"
For a moment a tiny flash of anger made her cheeks hot. Then she said:
"You know perfectly well it's Rosalie. I think we have become good enough comrades for me to use a man's privilege–"
"Men wouldn't permit themselves that sort of privilege," he said, laughing.
"Aren't men frank with their friends?" she demanded hotly.
"About as frank as women."
"I thought—" She hesitated, tingling with the old desire to hurt him, flick him in the raw, make him wince in his exasperating complacency. Then, "I've said it anyhow. I'm trying to show an interest in you—as you asked me to do–"
He turned in the darkness, caught her hand:
"You dear little thing," he whispered, laughing.
CHAPTER VI
ADRIFT
During the week the guests at Roya-Neh were left very much to their own devices. Nobody was asked to do anything; there were several good enough horses at their disposal, two motor cars, a power-boat, canoes, rods, and tennis courts and golf links. The chances are they wanted sea-bathing. Inland guests usually do.
Scott Seagrave, however, concerned himself little about his guests. All day long he moused about his new estate, field-glasses dangling, cap on the back of his head, pockets bulging with untidy odds and ends until the increasing carelessness of his attire and manners moved Kathleen Severn to protest.
"I don't know what is the matter with you, Scott," she said. "You were always such a fastidious boy—even dandified. Doesn't anybody ever cut your hair? Doesn't somebody keep your clothes in order?"
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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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