Peace Manoeuvres | Page 5

were all of the Farrar
servants. Miss Farrar herself was leaning upon the gate and waving
them a farewell. The touring-car moved off down the road; the station
wagon followed; Miss Farrar was alone. Lathrop scorched toward her,
and when he was opposite the gate, dug his toes in the dust and halted.
When he lifted his broad-brimmed campaign hat, Miss Farrar
exclaimed both with surprise and displeasure. Drawing back from the
gate she held herself erect. Her attitude was that of one prepared for
instant retreat. When she spoke it was in tones of extreme disapproval.
"You promised," said the girl, "you would not come to see me."
Lathrop, straddling his bicycle, peered anxiously down the road.
"This is not a social call," he said. "I'm on duty. Have you seen the
Reds?"
His tone was brisk and alert, his manner preoccupied. The
ungraciousness of his reception did not seem in the least to disconcert
him.
But Miss Farrar was not deceived. She knew him, not only as a
persistent and irrepressible lover, but as one full of guile, adroit in
tricks, fertile in expedients. He was one who could not take "No" for an
answer--at least not from her. When she repulsed him she seemed to
grow in his eyes only the more attractive.
"It is not the lover who comes to woo," he was constantly explaining,
"but the lover's WAY of wooing."
Miss Farrar had assured him she did not like his way. She objected to
being regarded and treated as a castle that could be taken only by
assault. Whether she wished time to consider, or whether he and his
proposal were really obnoxious to her, he could not find out. His policy
of campaign was that she, also, should not have time to find out. Again
and again she had agreed to see him only on the condition that he
would not make love to her. He had promised again and again, and had

failed to keep that promise. Only a week before he had been banished
from her presence, to remain an exile until she gave him permission to
see her at her home in New York. It was not her purpose to return there
for two weeks, and yet here he was, a beggar at her gate. It might be
that he was there, as he said, "on duty," but her knowledge of him and
of the doctrine of chances caused her to doubt it.
"Mr. Lathrop!" she began, severely.
As though to see to whom she had spoken Lathrop glanced anxiously
over his shoulder. Apparently pained and surprised to find that it was to
him she had addressed herself, he regarded her with deep reproach. His
eyes were very beautiful. It was a fact which had often caused Miss
Farrar extreme annoyance.
He shook his head sadly.
"'Mr. Lathrop?'" he protested. "You know that to you I am always
'Charles--Charles the Bold,' because I am bold to love you; but never
'Mr. Lathrop,' unless," he went on briskly, "you are referring to a future
state, when, as Mrs. Lathrop, you will make me--"
Miss Farrar had turned her back on him, and was walking rapidly up
the path.
"Beatrice," he called. "I am coming after you!"
Miss Farrar instantly returned and placed both hands firmly upon the
gate.
"I cannot understand you!" she said. "Don't you see that when you act
as you do now, I can't even respect you? How do you think I could ever
care, when you offend me so? You jest at what you pretend is the most
serious thing in your life. You play with it-- laugh at it!"
The young man interrupted her sharply.
"It's like this," he said. "When I am with you I am so happy I can't be
serious. When I am NOT with you, it is SO serious that I am utterly
and completely wretched. You say my love offends you, bores you! I
am sorry, but what, in heaven's name, do you think your NOT loving
me is doing to ME? I am a wreck! I am a skeleton! Look at me!"
He let his bicycle fall, and stood with his hands open at his sides, as
though inviting her to gaze upon the ruin she had caused.
Four days of sun and rain, astride of a bicycle, without food or sleep,
had drawn his face into fine, hard lines, had bronzed it with a healthy
tan. His uniform, made by the same tailor that fitted him with polo

breeches, clung to him like a jersey. The spectacle he presented was
that of an extremely picturesque, handsome, manly youth, and of that
fact no one was better aware than himself.
"Look at me," he begged, sadly.
Miss Farrar was entirely unimpressed.
"I am!"