“Blake,” he said, “if I didn’t know you for what you are, I’d say you
were interested there yourself.”
Being so near her, under the same roof, with even the tie of a dubious
secret between us, was making me heady. I pushed Forbes toward the
door.
“I interested!” I retorted, holding him by the shoulders. “There isn’t
a word in your vocabulary to fit my condition. I am an island in a
sunlit sea of emotion, Sam, a—an empty place surrounded by longing—a—”
“An empty place surrounded by longing!” he retorted. “You want your
dinner, that’s what’s the matter with you—”
I shut the door on him then. He seemed suddenly sordid. Dinner, I
thought! Although, as matter of fact, I made a very fair meal when,
Granger’s suitcase not having gone, in his coat and some other man’s
trousers, I was finally fit for the amenities. Alison did not come down
to dinner, so it was clear she would not go over to the club-house
dance. I pled my injured arm and a ficticious, vaguely located sprain
from the wreck, as an excuse for remaining at home. Sam regaled the
table with accounts of my distrust of women, my one love affair—with
Dorothy; to which I responded, as was expected, that only my failure
there had kept me single all these years, and that if Sam should be
mysteriously missing during the bathing hour to-morrow, and so on.
And when the endless meal was over, and yards of white veils had been
tied over pounds of hair—or is it, too, bought by the yard?—and some
eight _ensembles_ with their abject complements had been packed into
three automobiles and a trap, I drew a long breath and faced about. I
had just then only one object in life—to find Alison, to assure her of
my absolute faith and confidence in her, and to offer my help and my
poor self, if she would let me, in her service.
She was not easy to find. I searched the lower floor, the verandas and
the grounds, circumspectly. Then I ran into a little English girl who
turned out to be her maid, and who also was searching. She was
concerned because her mistress had had no dinner, and because the tray
of food she carried would soon be cold. I took the tray from her, on
the glimpse of something white on the shore, and that was how I met the
Girl again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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