The Common Law

"I knew it," she breathed; "I only wanted to hear you say it again…. I don't know why I'm crying;—do you?… What a perfect ninny a girl can be when she tries to…. All over your 'collar, too…. And now you're what Mr. Mantalini would call 'demned moist and unpleasant!' … I—I don't want to—s-sob—this way! I do-don't wish to … M-make me stop, Louis!… I'd like a handkerchief—anything—give me Gladys and I'll staunch my tears on her!"

She slipped from the bed's edge to the floor, and stood with her back toward him. Then she glanced sideways at the mirror to inspect her nose.

"Thank goodness that isn't red," she said gaily…. "Kelly, I'm hungry…. I've fasted since dawn—on this day—because I wanted to break bread with you on the first day of our new life together."

He looked at her, appalled, but she laughed and went into the studio. There was a beautiful old sideboard there always well stocked.

He turned on the lights, brought peaches and melons and strawberries and milk from the ice-chest, and found her already preparing chocolate over the electric grill and buttering immense slices of peasant bread.

"It's after two o'clock," she said, delighted. "Isn't this divinely silly? I wonder if there happens to be any salad in the ice-chest?"

"Cold chicken, too," he nodded, watching her set the table.

She glanced at him over her shoulder from time to time:

"Louis, are you going to enjoy all this? All of it?

You—somehow—don't look entirely happy—"

"I am…. All I wanted was to see you—hear your voice…. I shall be contented now."

"With just a view of me, and the sound of my voice?"

"You know there is—nothing more for us."

"I know nothing of the kind. The idea! And don't you dare struggle and kick and scream when I kiss you. Do you hear me, Louis?"

He laughed and watched her as she went swiftly and gracefully about the table arrangement, glancing up at him from moment to moment.

"The idea," she repeated, indignantly. "I guess I'll kiss you when I choose to. You are not in holy orders, are you? You haven't made any particular vows, have you—?"

"One."

She halted, looked at him, then went on with her labours, a delicate colour flushing face and neck.

"Where in the world is that salad, Louis? A hungry girl asks you! Don't drive me to desperation—"

"Are we going to have coffee?"

"No, it will keep us awake all night! I believe you are bent on my destruction." And, as she hovered over the table, she hummed the latest popular summer-roof ballad:

"'Stand back! Go 'way!
I can no longer stay
Although you are a Marquis or a Earl!
You may tempt the upper classes
With your villainous demi-tasses
But—
Heaven will protect the Working Girl!'"

At length everything was ready. He had placed two chairs opposite one another, but she wouldn't have it, and made him lug up a bench, lay a cushion on it, and sit beside her.

They behaved foolishly; she fed him strawberries at intervals, discreetly, on a fork—and otherwise.

"Think of it! Fruit—at three in the morning, Louis! I hope Heaven will protect this working girl…. No, dear, I'd rather not have any champagne…. You forget that this is a brand-new girl you're supping with … And, for reasons of her own—perhaps as an example to you—there is never again to be anything like that—not even a cigarette."

"Nonsense—"

"Oh, it's on account of my voice, not my morals, goose! I have rather a nice voice you know, and, if we can afford it, it would be a jolly good idea to have it cultivated …Isn't this melon divine! What fun, Louis!… I believe you are a little happier. That crease between your eyes has quite disappeared—There! Don't dare let it come back! It has no business there I tell you. I know it hasn't—and you must trust my word. Will you?"

She leaned swiftly toward him, placed both hands on his shoulders.

"You've a perfectly new girl to deal with," she said, looking him in the eyes;—"a miracle of meekness and patience that is rather certain to turn into a dreadful, frowsy old hausfrau some day. But that's the kind you wanted…. It's none of my doings—"

"Valerie!"

"What?"

"You darling!—do you mean—"

She closed his lips with hers.

"Silence," she said; "we have plenty to talk over before the hour arrives for me to be a door-mat. I won't be a door-mat when I'm trying to be happy over a perfectly good supper!… Besides I want to torture you while there's still time. I want to make you miserable by reminding you how disgracefully unmoral we are, here in your studio together at three in the morning—" She stretched out a slim, white ringless hand, and lifted the third finger for his inspection:

"Not a sign of a ring! Shame!" She turned her pretty, daring face to his, eyes sparkling with audacity:

"Besides, I'm not going back to-night."

He said tranquilly: "I should think not."

"I mean it, Kelly, I simply won't go. And you may ring up the police and every ambulance in town—and the fire department—"

"I've done it," he said, "but the fire department refuses to put you out…. You don't mean to say you've finished!—after fasting all day like a little idiot," he exclaimed as she sprang to her feet and pushed away her chair.

"I have. I am not an anaconda!" … She passed swiftly into the outer room where her own toilet necessaries were always ready, and presently came back, leisurely, her hands behind her back, sauntering toward, him with a provoking smile edging her lips:

"You may retire when you like, Kelly, and tie your red cotton night-cap under your chin. I shall sit up for the sun. It's due in about an hour, you know."

"Nonsense," he said. "We'll both, be dead in the morning."

"You offer me your guest-room?" she said in pretence of surprise. "How very nice of you, Mr. Neville. I—ah—will condescend to occupy it—for this evening only—" Her eyes brightened into laughter: "Oh, isn't it delicious, Louis! Isn't it perfectly heavenly to know that we are utterly and absolutely all right,—and to know that the world outside would be perfectly certain that we are not? What a darling you are!"

Still holding her hands behind her back she bent forward and touched her lips to his, daintily, fastidious in the light contact,

"Where is that picture of 'Womanhood'?" she asked.

He drew out the easel, adjusting the canvas to the light, and rolled a big chair up in front of it.

"Please sit there," she said; and seated herself on the padded arm, still keeping her hands behind her back.