CHAPTER XXV

When Forbes hastened after the hastening Persis and saw how distraught

she was he felt the sharp cutting-edge of sympathy. It was his first

sight of her in a mood of heartache, and his own heart ached akin.

When they reached the outer door they found to their amazement that it

was raining hard. Within doors there had been such luxurious peace under

such glowing lights that the sun was not missed and the rain was not

heard. But along the street, gusts of wind swept furious, with long

javelins of rain that made the awning almost useless. Women gathered

their finery about them, and men clung to their hats while they waited

for their cars, and then bolted for them as they came up dripping under

the guidance of dripping chauffeurs.

While Persis waited for a taxicab Forbes tried to shelter her with his

body. He ventured to hope that her father's absence would not distress

her.

"Oh no," she answered, bravely, "not at all. He's going on business. He

told me the other day he might have to leave town for a few days--on

business."

Forbes hesitated over his next words.

"I hope this won't prevent you from going up to Mr. Enslee's."

"Oh no, quite the contrary," she said. "I'd be alone at home. I'll be

glad of the--the diversion. Here's the taxi. It's really not necessary

for you to go with me."

For answer he took her arm and ran with her to the door the footman

opened. A blast of windy rain lashed them as they crept into the car.

The door slammed and they were under way, running cautiously on the

skiddish pavement.

At last he was alone with her. The rain made their shelter cozier, and

for all its bluster it was a spring rain. With its many-hoofed clatter

it was a battalion of police clearing the way for the flower procession.

Thinking of this, Forbes said:

"I'm mighty glad you're not leaving town."

"But I am."

"With your father, I mean. You're leaving town with me, instead."

She looked him in the eye with some surprise.

"It's a good thing we put the blame for that luncheon on Mrs. Neff. It

tickled her to death and--do you know that Willie really thinks you're

flirting with her--or aiming at Alice? He can't tell which." She laughed

deliciously. It did not grieve her to fool Willie.

The cab rocked in the wind, and the rain beat upon it with the sound of

waves protesting against the rush of a yacht's prow. Forbes caught a

glimpse of a street sign. It warned him that they were already passing

Fiftieth Street. In a few minutes they would be at her home.

"I'm not flirting with anybody," he said. "I'm adoring you."

A little frown of bewilderment troubled the smile she gave him. She felt

his hand on hers and tried to draw it away, but he held it fast.

"We're not at the opera, you know," she said. "That noise isn't the

music of 'Tristan and Isolde.' That's rain."

"I know it," he answered, "and I don't want you to be Isolde. If only

she had married Tristan in the first place--"

"They might have been divorced in the second place."

"Don't be--don't talk that way. I'm in deadly earnest," he pleaded, but

she laughed evasively.

"That was very heady sherry you gave us to-day."

He shook his head sadly, as over the flippancy of a child, and took her

hand in both of his.

"It's broad daylight, Mr. Forbes, and this is Madison Avenue."

"But nobody can see us," he answered. "Look at the rain."

"What difference does that make?" she answered, tugging at her hand. But

she looked, and saw how they were closed away from the world. Sheets of

water splashed and spread so thickly that they covered the windows with

gray curtains.

It was as if a brief tropical flood had burst upon New York.

Somehow it did make a difference that nobody could see. It always makes

a difference in us that nobody can see us.

Even Forbes felt the change in Persis. Perhaps it was only that her

resistance was minutely diminished, or that one of her many fears was

removed, one support gone. As a soldier he had sometime felt that

slackening of morale across the space between firing-lines. It is then

that the military genius orders a charge and turns the enemy's momentary

weakness into a panic.

So Forbes charged Persis. In his face gathered a fierce determination.

His fingers tightened upon hers, no longer caressingly, but cruelly,

till they hurt. He pulled her right hand across him with his right, and

thrust his left arm back of her, caught her farther shoulder in the

crook of it, and drew her close till their faces almost touched, till

her eyes were so close to his that they were grotesquely one.

And then he paused. He lacked the elan to seize the red flag of her

lips. He paused weakly to stare at her and to beseech the kiss he might

have captured.

"Kiss me!" he said.

So silly a phrase for so warm a deed. She shook her head, and her

fright was gone. She taunted him from her eyes as from an unconquered

citadel.

"Kiss me!" he repeated, feeling poltroon and idiotic.

She did not upbraid him or feel any anger or any helplessness; she just

studied him, ignoring the fact that he held her body close to him in a

crushing embrace. After all, that meant nothing. Almost anybody might

hold her so at a dance for all the world to see. Nothing mattered, she

thought, so long as their souls did not embrace.

But therein she was wrong, for their souls were not dancing to music. He

was demanding her love, her submission to his love. Their souls were

debating that vital question, without speech, yet with every argument.

She enjoyed the struggle. She was striking the first of the matches. She

would watch the pretty blue flame a moment before it blazed red, then

she would blow it out with a little breath from the lips he demanded.

It was fascinating to see how tremendously excited he was over the

privilege of touching his lips to hers. It was a quaint little act to

make so much of. He was a splendid man, brave, charming, good to see,

and now he was crimson and fierce-eyed and breathing hard, trembling

with the struggle to keep from taking what was so close. She smiled at

him triumphantly. She was about to puff out the flame with a whiff of

sarcasm, when he said, with all the simplicity of truth:

"I couldn't take a kiss unless you gave it to me. I don't want to kiss

you unless you want me to. May I?"

It was such a boyish plea that she could not be sophisticated in its

presence. She could not answer such hunger with wit. She felt a sudden

power from somewhere pressing her head forward to his lips and her heart

closer to his.

She smiled tenderly with veiled eyes, and no longer held off. With a

gasp of joy he understood and caught her against him. But just as their

lips would have met another instinct saved her.

She had always felt a kind of sanctity about her mouth, a preciousness

that must not be cheaply cast away. Among all the kisses she had given

and taken there still remained this first kiss, still vestal and virgin.

And that was the kiss he asked.

She turned her head swiftly, and it was her cheek that he touched. There

was such a burning in the touch that the fire ran through her. Her

cheeks crimsoned. She closed her eyes in a kind of sweet shame.

She was amazed to be there, huddled in his arms, with his lips preying

upon her cheek. Her soul was in wild debate with itself, busy with

reproaches and summons to battle against the invader. But it was like a

senate without president. There was no one to give the order.

At last she opened her eyes to see again what manner of man this was

that had conjured away all her pride and her wisdom and her strength.

Her eyes saw that the curtain of rain was slipping from the windows. The

downpour had abated. They were drawing up at her own curb.

She flung off his hands with a gasp of anger and terror. He stared at

her in a daze. Then he understood.

"Forgive me!" he pleaded.

She was furious with him; but she blamed herself more, and breathed hard

with rage as she straightened her hat and her hair.

An old footman was waiting at the top of the steps with an umbrella. He

ran down and opened the door.

"Your father is waiting for you, miss," he said.

Forbes stepped forth into the light drizzle and helped her out.

"Good-by," he said. And again "Good-by." But she hurried up the steps.

Forbes followed her with his eyes, and saw an elderly gentleman waiting

for her at the door. There was a troubled look on his face. The door

closed upon him as he caught Persis in his arms.

Forbes told the chauffeur to take him to his hotel, and crept back into

the deserted nest of romance. The taxicab turned slowly round. As it

passed the house again, Forbes saw another car stop at the curb. From it

stepped Willie Enslee.