The Tempting of Tavernake | Page 9

not agree with you in the least," he asserted firmly. "Your looks
have nothing to do with it. I am sure that it is not that."
"Let me cross-examine you," she suggested. "Think carefully now.
Does it give you no pleasure at all to be sitting here alone with me?"
He answered her deliberately; it was obvious that he was speaking the
truth.
"I am not conscious that it does," he declared. "The only feeling I am
aware of at the present moment in connection with you, is the curiosity
of which I have already spoken."

She leaned a little towards him, extending her very shapely fingers.
Once more the smile at her lips transformed her face.
"Look at my hand," she said. "Tell me--wouldn't you like to hold it just
for a minute, if I gave it you?"
Her eyes challenged his, softly and yet imperiously. His whole
attention, however, seemed to be absorbed by her finger-nails. It
seemed strange to him that a girl in her straits should have devoted so
much care to her hands.
"No," he answered deliberately, "I have no wish to hold your hand.
Why should I?"
"Look at me," she insisted.
He did so without embarrassment or hesitation,--it was more than ever
apparent that he was entirely truthful. She leaned back in her chair,
laughing softly to herself.
"Oh, my friend Mr. Leonard Tavernake," she exclaimed, "if you were
not so crudely, so adorably, so miraculously truthful, what a prig, prig,
prig, you would be! The cutlets at last, thank goodness! Your
cross-examination is over. I pronounce you 'Not Guilty!"'
During the progress of the rest of the meal, they talked very little. At its
conclusion, Tavernake discharged the bill, having carefully checked
each item and tipped the waiter the exact amount which the man had
the right to expect. They ascended the stairs together to the street, the
girl lingering a few steps behind. On the pavement her fingers touched
his arm.
"I wonder, would you mind driving me down to the Embankment?" she
asked almost humbly. "It was so close down there and I want some air."
This was an extravagance which he had scarcely contemplated, but he
did not hesitate. He called a taxicab and seated himself by her side. Her
manner seemed to have grown quieter and more subdued, her tone was

no longer semi-belligerent.
"I will not keep you much longer," she promised. "I suppose I am not
so strong as I used to be. I have had scarcely anything to eat for two
days and conversation has become an unknown luxury. I think--it
seems absurd--but I think that I am feeling a little faint."
"The air will soon revive you," he said. "As to our conversation, I am
disappointed. I think that you are very foolish not to tell me more about
yourself."
She closed her eyes, ignoring his remark. They turned presently into a
narrower thoroughfare. She leaned towards him.
"You have been very good to me," she admitted almost timidly, "and I
am afraid that I have not been very gracious. We shall not see one
another again after this evening. I wonder--would you care to kiss me?"
He opened his lips and closed them again. He sat quite still, his eyes
fixed upon the road ahead, until he had strangled something absolutely
absurd, something unrecognizable.
"I would rather not," he decided quietly. "I know you mean to be kind
but that sort of thing--well, I don't think I understand it. Besides," he
added with a sudden na‹ve relief, as he clutched at a fugitive but
plausible thought, "if I did you would not believe the things which I
have been telling you."
He had a curious idea that she was disappointed as she turned her head
away, but she said nothing. Arrived at the Embankment, the cab came
slowly to a standstill. The girl descended. There was something new in
her manner; she looked away from him when she spoke.
"You had better leave me here," she said. "I am going to sit upon that
seat."
Then came those few seconds' hesitation which were to count for a
great deal in his life. The impulse which bade him stay with her was

unaccountable but it conquered.
"If you do not object," he remarked with some stiffness, "I should like
to sit here with you for a little time. There is certainly a breeze."
She made no comment but walked on. He paid the man and followed
her to the empty seat. Opposite, some illuminated advertisements
blazed their unsightly message across the murky sky. Between the two
curving rows of yellow lights the river flowed--black, turgid, hopeless.
Even here, though they had escaped from its absolute thrall, the
far-away roar of the city beat upon their ears. She