afternoon you have shown that you haven’t visited your wrath upon the whole of Jay’s family, and yet you must be upset—I mean, the wound is very recent.”
“So it is,” he agreed, quietly, but still with the faintest suspicion of a smile clinging to his lips as he stared through the windscreen. “That is to say, the disappointment is very recent—but I will be honest with you, Miss Lois, and admit that there is no wound. Your English mind will probably find that difficult to accept, but my family for generations have been collectors of beautiful pieces—if you had time to examine the contents of the quinta you would realize that— and Jay to me was a thing of beauty, and also, as I explained to you, I wished for a mother for my child. I should have known that that particular type of effervescent beauty is not the type to take kindly to the responsibilities thrust upon it. Jay wished to be the centre of the picture—and that is all!” “Then, you—you were not in love with her? Not really at all in love with her?”
He sent her another sideways glance, but this time his black eyes were unfathomable if faintly smiling pools.
“You are young enough to put a great deal of emphasis on love! Have you ever experienced it yourself, Miss Lois? Or is it that you feel that a marriage contract would scarcely be binding without it?”
She felt he was mocking her—gently—and she colored brilliantly. She colored right up to her slightly fly-away eyebrows, that were several shades darker than her honey-gold hair, and the slender column of her throat was dyed pink as well. But her grey-blue eyes ventured to meet his bravely.
“Whether or not I have ever been in love is nothing to do with—with your problem, is it, senhor?” She suggested. “But it seems to me that a marriage contract would definitely be more binding with it!”
“Touche” he exclaimed, and then his lips openly parted over his very white teeth. “You have probably got a great deal there, and in spite of your inexperience you must be very wise. For somehow, although you will not tell me the truth about yourself, I do not think you have ever been in love. There is something of unawareness about you— something completely unawakened! Will you forgive me if I tell you that?”
Lois pursed her lips a little primly, for she disliked this personal note the conversation had arrived at—for, of course, he was only quietly amusing himself at her expense—and her frown told him that she disliked it.
“You are angry with me?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “You have been very kind, and—and I merely wished you to know that, although certain of my sympathies are with Jay, I was very much upset because I felt you were unfairly treated.”
“But you feel also that Jay has escaped something?” “Yes, I feel that you were no more fair to her than she was to you.”
“Then there is no reason why either of us should feel bitter?”
“No.”
“And the whole affair can be washed out and forgotten?”
“If it had happened to me I would wish very much to forget it. But it would never have happened to me.”
“Why not?” he enquired, as if he was interested.
“Because no man would wish to add me to his collection of museum pieces, and if I suspected that he did I would dislike and mistrust him extremely. I would look upon him as not quite human, and avoid linking my life with his. In that way we would both sidetrack certain unhappiness.”
“I see,” he said, and for a few moments she was convinced he was actually taken aback. And then, to her astonishment, he started to laugh, and his laughter sounded as if he were really enjoying himself. “You are a quaint little person, Miss Lois,” he told her, when they were just about to draw up in front of the hotel, “and even wiser than I thought. And you are completely right about one thing— no man would ever look upon you as a museum piece!”
And then he descended and held
“So it is,” he agreed, quietly, but still with the faintest suspicion of a smile clinging to his lips as he stared through the windscreen. “That is to say, the disappointment is very recent—but I will be honest with you, Miss Lois, and admit that there is no wound. Your English mind will probably find that difficult to accept, but my family for generations have been collectors of beautiful pieces—if you had time to examine the contents of the quinta you would realize that— and Jay to me was a thing of beauty, and also, as I explained to you, I wished for a mother for my child. I should have known that that particular type of effervescent beauty is not the type to take kindly to the responsibilities thrust upon it. Jay wished to be the centre of the picture—and that is all!” “Then, you—you were not in love with her? Not really at all in love with her?”
He sent her another sideways glance, but this time his black eyes were unfathomable if faintly smiling pools.
“You are young enough to put a great deal of emphasis on love! Have you ever experienced it yourself, Miss Lois? Or is it that you feel that a marriage contract would scarcely be binding without it?”
She felt he was mocking her—gently—and she colored brilliantly. She colored right up to her slightly fly-away eyebrows, that were several shades darker than her honey-gold hair, and the slender column of her throat was dyed pink as well. But her grey-blue eyes ventured to meet his bravely.
“Whether or not I have ever been in love is nothing to do with—with your problem, is it, senhor?” She suggested. “But it seems to me that a marriage contract would definitely be more binding with it!”
“Touche” he exclaimed, and then his lips openly parted over his very white teeth. “You have probably got a great deal there, and in spite of your inexperience you must be very wise. For somehow, although you will not tell me the truth about yourself, I do not think you have ever been in love. There is something of unawareness about you— something completely unawakened! Will you forgive me if I tell you that?”
Lois pursed her lips a little primly, for she disliked this personal note the conversation had arrived at—for, of course, he was only quietly amusing himself at her expense—and her frown told him that she disliked it.
“You are angry with me?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “You have been very kind, and—and I merely wished you to know that, although certain of my sympathies are with Jay, I was very much upset because I felt you were unfairly treated.”
“But you feel also that Jay has escaped something?” “Yes, I feel that you were no more fair to her than she was to you.”
“Then there is no reason why either of us should feel bitter?”
“No.”
“And the whole affair can be washed out and forgotten?”
“If it had happened to me I would wish very much to forget it. But it would never have happened to me.”
“Why not?” he enquired, as if he was interested.
“Because no man would wish to add me to his collection of museum pieces, and if I suspected that he did I would dislike and mistrust him extremely. I would look upon him as not quite human, and avoid linking my life with his. In that way we would both sidetrack certain unhappiness.”
“I see,” he said, and for a few moments she was convinced he was actually taken aback. And then, to her astonishment, he started to laugh, and his laughter sounded as if he were really enjoying himself. “You are a quaint little person, Miss Lois,” he told her, when they were just about to draw up in front of the hotel, “and even wiser than I thought. And you are completely right about one thing— no man would ever look upon you as a museum piece!”
And then he descended and held
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