The Crimson Tide: A Novel

“My trouble,” he explained naïvely, “is that I am restless and unhappy when I remain away from you.”

The girl laughed. “But, Jim, you seemed to be having a perfectly good time at Delmonico’s this noon.”

He reddened and gave her a disconcerted look.

“I don’t see,” she added, “why any man shouldn’t have a good time with such an attractive girl. May I ask who she is?”

“Elorn Sharrow,” he replied bluntly.

Palla’s glance had sometimes wandered over social columns in the papers and periodicals, and she was not ignorant concerning the identity and local importance of Miss Sharrow.

She looked up curiously at Jim. He was so very good to look at! Better, even, to know. And Miss Sharrow was his kind. They had seemed to belong together. And it came to Palla, hazily, and for the first time, that she herself seemed to belong nowhere in particular in the scheme of things.

But that was quite all right. She had now established for herself a habitation. She had some friends–would undoubtedly make others. She had her interests, her peace of mind, and her independence. And behind her she had the dear and tragic past–a passionate memory of a dead girl; a terrible remembrance of a dead God.

The heart of the world alone could make up to her these losses. For now she was already preparing to seek it in her own way, under her own Law of Love.

“Jim,” she said almost timidly, “I have not intended to make you unhappy. Don’t you understand that?”

He seated himself: she lighted a cigarette for him.

“I suppose you can’t help doing it,” he said glumly.

“I really can’t, it seems. I don’t love you. I wish I did.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do… I wish I were in love with you.”

After a moment she said: “I told you how much I care for you. But–if you think it is easier for you–not to see me–”

“I can’t seem to stay away.”

“I’m glad you can’t–for my sake; but I’m troubled on your account. I do so adore to be with you! But–but if–”

“Hang it all!” he exclaimed, forcing a wry smile. “I act like an unbaked fool! You’ve gone to my head, Palla, and I behave like a drunken kid… I’ll buck up. I’ve got to. I’m not the blithering, balmy, moon-eyed, melancholy ass you think me–”

Her quick laughter rang clear, and his echoed it, rather uncertainly.

“You poor dear,” she said, “you’re nearest my heart of anybody. I told you so. It’s only that one thing I don’t dare do.”

He nodded.

“Can’t you really understand that I’m afraid?”

“Afraid!” he repeated. “I should think you might be, considering your astonishing point of view. I should think you’d be properly scared to death!”

“I am. No girl, afraid, should ever take such a chance. Love and Fear cannot exist together. The one always slays the other.”

He looked at her curiously, remembering what Estridge had told him about her–how, on that terrible day in the convent chapel, this girl’s love had truly slain the fear within her as she faced the Red assassins and offered to lay down her life for her friend. Than which, it is said, there is no greater love…

“Of what are you thinking?” she asked, watching his expression.

“Of you–you strange, generous, fearless, wilful girl!” Then he squared his shoulders and shook them as though freeing himself of something oppressive.

“What you may need is a spanking!” he suggested coolly.

“Good heavens, Jim!–”

“But I’m afraid you’re not likely to get it. And what is going to happen to you–and to me–I don’t know–I don’t know, Palla.”

“May I prophesy?”

“Go to it, Miriam.”

“Behold, then: I shall never care for any man more than I care now for you; I shall never care more for you than I do now… And if you are sweet-tempered and sensible, we shall be very happy with each other… Even after you marry… Unless your wife misunderstands–”

“My wife!” he repeated derisively.

“Miss Sharrow, for instance.”

He turned a dull red; the girl’s heart missed a beat, then hurried a little before it calmed again under her cool recognition and instant disdain of the first twinge of jealousy she could remember since childhood.

The absurdity of it, too! After all, it was this man’s destiny to marry. And, if it chanced to be that girl–

“You know,” he said in a detached, musing way, “it is well for you to remember that I shall never marry unless I marry you… Life is long. There are other women… I may forget you–at intervals… But I shall never marry except with you, Palla.”

Her smile forced the gravity from her lips and eyes:

“If you behave like a veiled prophet you’ll end by scaring me,” she said.

But he merely gathered her into his arms and kissed her–laid back her head and looked down into her face and kissed her lips, without haste, as though she belonged to him.

Her head rested quite motionless on his shoulder. Perhaps she was still too taken aback to do anything about the matter. Her heart had hurried a little–not much–stimulated, possibly, by the rather agreeable curiosity which invaded her–charmingly expressive, now, in her wide brown eyes.

“So that’s the way of it,” he concluded, still looking down at her. “There are other women in the world. And life is long. But I marry you or nobody. And it’s my opinion that I shall not die unmarried.”

She smiled defiantly.

“You don’t seem to think much of my opinions,” she said.

“Are you more friendly to mine?”

“Certain opinions of yours,” he retorted, “originated in the diseased bean of some crazy Russian–never in your mind! So of course I hold them in contempt.”

She saw his face darken, watched it a moment, then impulsively drew his head down against hers.

“I do care for your opinions,” she said, her cheek, delicately warm, beside his. “So, even if you can not comprehend mine, be generous to them. I’m sincere. I try to be honest. If you differ from me, do it kindly, not contemptuously. For there is no such thing as ‘noble contempt!’ There is respectability in anger and nobility in tolerance. But none in disdain, for they are contradictions.”