The White Shadow | Page 5

changed. The sun flooded it.
Sweetheart sat in the broken armchair and watched me struggle with
the packing. Every now and then she made an impulsive movement
toward the heap of clothes on the floor, which I checked with a
"Thanks! I can fix it all alone, Sweetheart."
Clifford seemed to extract amusement from it all, and said as much to
Rowden, who was as usual ruining my zitherine by trying to play it like
a banjo.
Elliott, knowing he could be of no use to us, had the decency to sit
outside the studio on one of the garden benches. He appeared at
intervals at the studio door, saying, "Come along, Clifford; they don't

want you messing about. Drop that banjo, Rowden, or Jack will break
your head with it--won't you, Jack?"
I said I would, but not with the zitherine.
Clifford flatly refused to move unless Sweetheart would take him out
into our garden and show him the solitary goldfish which lurked in the
fountain under the almond trees. But Sweetheart, apparently fascinated
by the mysteries of packing, turned a deaf ear to Cliff3rd's
blandishments and Rowden's discords.
"I imagined," said Clifford, somewhat hurt, "that you would delight in
taking upon yourself the duties of a hostess. I should be pleased to
believe that I am not an unwelcome guest."
"So should I," echoed Rowden; "I'd be pleased too."
"What a shame for you to bother, Jack! she said. "Mr. Clifford shall go
and make some tea directly. Mr. Rowden, you may take a table out by
the fountain--and stay there."
Clifford, motioning Elliott to take the other end of the Japanese table,
backed with it through the hallway and out to the gravel walk,
expostulating.
"The sugar is there in that tin box by the model stand," she said, when
he reappeared, "and the extra spoons are Lying in a long box on Jack's
big easel."
When Rowden, reluctantly relinquishing the zitherine, followed
Clifford, bearing the cups and alcohol lamp, I raised my head and
wiped the dust from my forehead. I believe I swore a little in French.
Sweetheart looked startled. She knew more French than I supposed she
did.
"What is it, Jack?"
"Mais--rien, ça m'embête--cette espèce de malle--"

"Then why won't you let me help you, Jack? I can at least put in my
gowns."
"But I must pack my colour box first, and the gun case, and the box of
reels, and the pastel case, and our shooting boots, and the watercolour
box, and the cartridge belt, and your golf shoes, and--"
"O dear!" said Sweetheart with a shudder.
I stood up and scowled at the trunk.
"To look at you, Jack," murmured Sweetheart, "one might think you
unhappy."
Unhappy! At the thought our eyes met across the table.
"Unhappy!" I whispered.
Then Clifford came stumbling in, wearing a pair of Joseph's sabots, and,
imitating that faithful domestic in voice and manner, invited us to tea
under the lilacs and almond blossoms.
"In a moment," cried Sweetheart impatiently. "Go and pour the tea."
Clifford looked aghast. "No, no!" he cried; "it's impossible--I won't
believe that you two are deliberately getting rid of me so you can be
alone to spoon! And your honeymoon already a year old, and--"
Sweetheart frowned, and tapped her foot.
Clifford retired indignant.
Then she raised her eyes to mine, and a delicate colour stained her
cheeks and neck.
"Yes," I said, "we have been married nearly a year, Sweetheart."
We looked at our white shadows on the floor.

V.
Sweetheart sat under the lilac blossoms pouring out tea for Clifford,
Elliott, and Row-den. She was gracious to Clifford, gentle to Elliott,
and she took Rowden under her wing in the sweetest way possible, to
which Clifford stated his objections.
"Mr. Rowden is younger than you are," she said gravely. "Monsieur
Clifford, I do not wish you to torment him."
"Rowden's no baby; he's as old as Jack is, and Jack doesn't murder
music."
"I am glad to see you acknowledge Jack's superiority in all matters,"
said Sweetheart with a dangerous smile.
"I don't," cried Clifford laughing; "and I don't see what you find to care
about in a man who clips his hair like a gendarme and paints everything
purple."
"Everything is purple--if Jack paints it so," said Sweetheart, smiling at
her reflected face in the water. She stood at the rim of the little stone
fountain with her hands clasped behind her back. Elliott and Clifford
were poking about in the water plants to dislodge the solitary goldfish,
while Rowden gathered dewy clusters of lilacs as an offering.
"There he goes!" said Elliott.
"Poor fellow, living there all alone!" said Sweetheart. "Jack must leave
word with Joseph to get him a little lady fish to pay his court to."
"Better