Sleeping Fires: A Novel | Page 9

that is nonsense. I always think myself fortunate if I sit
next you at dinner." Madeleine spoke in her gayest tones, but in truth
she dreaded what the man might make of this innocent escapade and
intended to make a friend of him if possible.

She was growing accustomed to the gloom and saw him smile
fatuously. "That sends me to the seventh heaven. How often since you
came have I wished that my dancing days were not over."
"I'd far rather hear you talk. Tell me some news."
"News? News? San Francisco is as flat at present as spilled champagne.
Let me see? Ah! Did you ever hear of Langdon Masters?"
"No. Who is he?"
"He is Virginian like myself--a distant cousin. He fought through the
war, badly wounded twice, came home to find little left of the old
estate--practically nothing for him. He tried to start a newspaper in
Richmond but couldn't raise the capital. He went to New York and
wrote for the newspapers there; also writes a good deal for the more
intellectual magazines. Thought perhaps you had come across
something of his. There is just a whisper, you know, that you were
rather a bas bleu before you came to us."
"Because I was born and educated in Boston? Poor Boston! I do recall
reading something of Mr. Masters' in the Atlantic--I suppose it was--but
I have forgotten what. Here, I have grown too frivolous--and happy--to
care to read at all. But what have you to tell me particularly about Mr.
Masters?"
"I had a letter from him this morning asking me if there was an opening
here. He resents the antagonism in the North that he meets at every turn,
although they are glad enough of his exceptionally brilliant work. But
he knows that San Francisco is the last stronghold of the South, and
also that our people are generous and enterprising. I shall write him that
I can see no opening for another paper at present, but will let him know
if there happens to be one on an editorial staff. That is a long journey to
take on an uncertainty."
"I should think so. Heavens, how this carriage does bounce. The horses
must be galloping."

"Probably." He lifted a corner of the curtain. "We shall reach the city
soon at this rate. Ah!"
Madeleine, in spite of the bouncing vehicle, had managed heretofore to
prop herself firmly in her corner, but a violent lurch suddenly threw her
against Travers. He caught her firmly in one of his lean wiry arms. At
the moment she thought nothing of it, although she disliked the contact,
but when she endeavored to disengage herself, he merely jerked her
more closely to his side and she felt his hot breath upon her cheek. It
was the fevered breath of a man who drinks much and late and almost
nauseated her.
"Come come," whispered Travers. "I know you didn't go out there to
meet any one; it was just a natural impulse for a little adventure, wasn't
it? And I deserve my reward for getting you home safely. Give me a
kiss."
Madeleine wrenched herself free, but he laughed and caught her again,
this time in both arms. "Oh, you can't get away, and I'm going to have
that kiss. Yes, a dozen, by Jove. You're the prettiest thing in San
Francisco, and I'll get ahead of the other men there."
His yellow distorted face--he looked like a satyr--was almost on hers.
She freed herself once more with a dexterous twisting motion of her
supple body, leaped to the front of the carriage and pounded on the
window behind the driver.
"For God's sake! You fool! What are you doing? Do you want a
scandal?"
The carriage stopped its erratic course so abruptly that he was thrown
to the floor. Madeleine already had the door open. She had all the
strength of youth and perfect health, and he was worn out and shaken.
He was scrambling to his feet. She put her arms under his shoulders
and threw him out into the road.
"Go on!" she called to the driver. And as he whipped up the horses
again, his Homeric laughter mingling with the curses of the man in the

ditch, she sank back trembling and gasping. It was her first experience
of the vileness of man, for the men of her day respected the women of
their own class unless met half way, or, violently enamoured, given full
opportunity to express their emotions.
Moreover she had made a venomous enemy.
What would Howard say? What would he do to the wretch? Horsewhip
him? Would he stop to think of scandal? The road had been deserted.
She knew that Travers would keep his humiliation to himself and the
incidents that led