Mary Wollaston | Page 7

for an
accompanist, I mean. He's very good indeed, isn't he?"
"Oh, yes, he's good," she assented absently. "Awfully good. And he is a
nice furry little enthusiastic thing; like a faun, rather; exciting to play
with of course. But it wasn't that. It's you, really--being in love with
you the way I am. I suppose that's the very best thing that could
possibly have happened to me. I'm another person altogether from that
girl you found in Vienna. Just where she left off, I begin."
She uttered a little laugh then of sheer exuberance and with a strong
embrace, pressed his head hard against her breast. He yielded passively,
made no response of his own beyond a deep-drawn breath or two. A
moment later when she had released him and risen to her feet, he rose
too.
"Would Novelli be procurable?" he asked. "Could he be engaged
regularly, as an accompanist for you and so on?"
She looked at him rather oddly. "Why, I don't need him," she said, "as
long as I am just playing. Of course, if I were to go regularly to work,
somebody like him would be almost necessary."
There was a tight little silence for a few seconds after that, he once
more evading her eyes. "It seems to me you work most of the time as it
is," he said. Then he announced his intention of going up-stairs to take
a nap. He wasn't going to the hospital until eleven.
He did go up to his room and lay down upon his bed and, eventually,
he slept. But for an hour, his mind raced like an idle motor. That
nonsense of Lucile's about Portia Stanton's folly in marrying a young
musician whose big Italian eyes would presently begin looking

soulfully at some one else. Had they already looked like that at Paula?
Jealousy itself wasn't a base emotion. Betraying it was all that mattered.
You couldn't help feeling it for any one you loved. Paula, bending over
that furry faun-like head, reading off the same score with him,
responding to the same emotions from the music.... Fantastic, of course.
There could be no sane doubt as to who it was that Paula was in love
with. That embrace of hers, just now. Curious how it terrified him. He
had felt like a mouse under the soft paw of a cat. An odd symptom of
fatigue.
What a curious thing life was. How widely it departed from the
traditional patterns. Here in his own case, that Fate should save the one
real passion of his life for the Indian summer of it. And that it should be
a reciprocated passion. The wiseacres were smiling at him, he supposed;
smiling as the world always smiled at the spectacle of infatuate age
mating with tolerant, indifferently acquiescent youth. Smiled and
wondered how long it would be before youth awoke and turned to its
own. Well, he could afford to smile at the wiseacres. And at the green
inexperienced young, as well, who thought that love was exclusively
their affair--children the age of Mary taking their sentimental thrills so
seriously!
Four years now he had been married to Paula and the thing had never
chilled,--never gone stale. How different from the love of his youth that
had led to his former marriage, was this burning constant flame. Paula
was utterly content with him. She had given up her career for him.--No.
She hadn't done that. He had not asked her to do that. Had not, on the
contrary, her marriage really furthered it? Was she not more of a person
to-day than the discouraged young woman he had found singing for
pittances the leading dramatic soprano rôles in the minor municipal
operas of Germany and Austria? Wasn't that what she had said this
morning--that falling in love with him was the best thing that could
possibly have happened to her? He had taken it wrong when she said it,
as if she were regarding him just as an instrument that served her
purpose, a purpose that lay beyond him; outside him.
That was what had given him that momentary pang of terror. Fatigue,

of course. He ought to go to sleep. Paula was refraining from her
morning practise just so that he could. Or was that why? Was she
dreaming, up in the music room where she was never to be
disturbed,--of last night--of Novelli? Damnation....

CHAPTER II
SEA DRIFT
Paula went up to the music room after breakfast, stood at one of its
open windows for a few minutes breathing in the air of an unusually
mild March and then abruptly left it; dressed for the street and went out
for a walk.
She was quite as much disturbed over the scene in the dining-room as
her