Reading High School - Arxalma Yearbook (Reading, PA)

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Q RED AND BLACK street, Elizabeth was driven home. She was not aware of what her eyes were looking upon. She was not thinking of what had passed in any conscious, literal fashion. She felt nothing, yet had an under consciousness that she was going to feel much. As the victoria stopped before the house on Park Avenue, her father came down the steps. He gave her a sharp, ir- ritated look. His mouth was puckered grimly. Where've you been? he askedg you knew Poyndale was coming to lunch, and we waited a half hour for you. You look fagged. Where've you been? She fretted against the masterful tone in a way quite different from her usual listless amiabilityg and the critical glance she bent on her father was novel, too. Everything about Mr. Allien was just over the mark of good taste. He was dressed too much. His waistcoat, de- scribed by his tailor as a pleasing nov- elty, fairly shrieked. His well cared for but hairy hands, with joints much en- larged from years of hard work, had rouged nails polished to the brilliancy of small mirrors. His too high collar was plainly uncomfortable. The ring on his little finger held a diamond too large as his hand grasped an entirely superfluous walking stick. He was materialized os- tentationg the beggar who, when he is in a position to eat, gorges himself, but with a certain childish pleasure in his grand- eur that completely baiiles criticism. Elizabeth realized, too, the vivid qualities that had made him a success: a rough, virile intelligenceg a pride of a sortg un- dying patienceg courage against any oddsg the honesty that pays a fair price for what it buys. But while she loved him sincerely, she realized with this sharpened perception that all these were like tiny flowers in the dust-heap of sor- dld things. With a few words she passed him, for she craved being alone. I forgot lunch, dad. I'm awf'1y sorry, dear. I've been driving-about-and I've such a headache. Mr. Allien gave another long, sharp look with a dawning anxiety in it. Poyndale and six others will be here for dinner. Donft forget that, too, my girl. These short memories may be what fools call artistic, but they don't go in society and I don't like 'em. He started for a walk, and Elizabeth went to her own rooms. She felt dull and sickeningly cold. There was the need of making a new acquaintance with her- self. She must first understand, and then in some way rout this creeping dissatis- faction and uncertainty. She must think of Dan, of her hour with him. She be- gan to feel a struggling desire to place the wrong and justify herself. him in But her lips still burned from his 'amaz- ing kiss as she walked recklessly about, or sat with hands pressed to her eyes or gazed into the street without seeing it, and instead of justification, fear in- creased with the seconds. She had chosen her life's path so unhesitatingly, and had walked it with such thoughtless content, but now she was standing still with a feeling of insecurity. For she realized if Dan had spoken truly, that path led her away from the things that really spelled happiness. There was a stinging haze upon her sight as she stood on a chair and took an old portfolio from a high shelf. She al- ways carried it with her, though it had not been opened in two years. Now she dreamed and yearned over it in a sudden passion of repentance for her neglect. As if it took a subtle revenge, everything she fingered poured the poison of regret into her heart. She was like some one who had sought strange gods, and who had crept back, heartsick, to gaze on for- saken altars. The memories seemed clos- ing around her with the arms of a little child she was trying brutally to desertg it was a living thing leaning upon her heart whispering to her. At last she closed the book and crossed her arms upon it. A deep longing for the old, turbulent days sent a pang through her. Ah, the bitterness, sweetness, striv- ing, insecurity, light footed liberty, con- quest, or laughter in the face of defeat had really spelled life-not the clogged, surfeited days she knew now when she desired nothing, feared nothing. Dan was right. She had sold that God-given some- thing for the something of earth. As she stared into her thoughts, a pinched chided look stole over her face. Was he right also in the summing up of herself?

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LITERARY 7 pretty, untroubled, and confident as be fore. Ah, well, Danny, she murmured, even though you discountenance me as a woman of fashion and say horrid things about me, you do like me. We were such good chums. It used to be sweet here, running in and out of each other's stu- dios. I tell you I missed it a lot when I went in for heavy splendor in London. The others-Billy, Cis, Christy, all wrote to me. You never did-never answered one of my letters-painfully rude, honest- ly, Dan. But I heard all about you any- how and was awfully glad to hear of your successes. Dan did not answer. He seemed so thoughtful and calm, gazing into infinity, that she saw no danger in going quite close to him, touching his arm, letting her ungloved fingers twine insinuatlngly about it. You might have written, Danny. If you knew-oh, how I watched, watched, watched for a letter. The words were like a confession of a long deferred hope. He looked down in- to her eyes, her gaze remained tender, in- viting, dreaming. It was such a candid, soulful look apparently, such a false one as he well knewg his heart grew big with bitterness. You are fond of me, Dan? she asked, her eyes brightening as she saw his face twitch, though his jaw was set. Fond of you? The words were slow, unwillingly, almost angry. I loved you always. You always knew lt. She appeared startled. But you never told me, she murmured, her fingers still ruminatingly touching his sleeve. You knew it. A thousand times you tried to make me tell you. I meant to some day. I was only waiting then for success. I believed ln you then. You don't now? she queried, hurt. Now I know that this cat and mouse game has always been a favorite of yours. The tone was so hare of a shred of lllu- sion that her Angers fell sharply from his arm. He stood up, squaring his shoul- ders. You kept me hoping and fearing for a year, a fool's paradise: then you found you hadn't known your own mind! But don't say again you didn't know I loved you-I can't bear it. His hands came down upon her shoulders, the grip hurting her. Why, you came today feel- ing sure you'd only have to see me to find me the same miserable, romantic beggar you'd left, with love for you bubbling from his heart and peeping from his eyes -didn't you? You thought this little visit would be a little adventure, a sort of a spice to your ultra-fashionable life. He gave a short, miserable laugh, and rushed on vehemently. My dear Elizabeth, you had things all your own way long enough. You've played with me once too often today. Your eyes have been lying to me every moment since you came in. You've seen that I grow wretched and restless at the sight of you. You've watched me as Louis XI watched the suf- ferings of his tortured prisoners. She tried to draw away, but his eyes, with love, storm, and arralgnment mes- merized her into submission. I'm not playing that part any longer and starv- mg. He caught her to him abruptly. She could not resist. His burning, trembling lips, controlled her own. It was a wild kiss, ripe with the suppressed suffering of heart-sick, lonely years,-overpower ingly sad in a despairing farewell. , I love you, she heard him say faintly, brokenly. Oh, Beth, I love you. As summarily as he had taken her to him, he put her away and stood before her, pale and very grave. She was trem- bling as if a storm had whirled about her and left her faint. You had no right, she moaned be- tween her shut teeth. You dared-you've been a coward. I've just one question to ask you, and then we'll finish this scene, Dan said quietly. I've heard all about Lord Hen- ry Poyndale. In fact, I met him at dinner one day last week. You know I am some- times lnvited to one of your fashionable feasts to be scrutinized as some near. human curloslty. I heard there, of him and of you. Can you deny that the ruby on the third finger of that hand which rested on my arm a few moments ago was put there by this high nosed, light eyebrowed nobleman? Her eyelids hid her eyes from him, but a look of defeat and certainly of shame made a shadow around her mouth. She made no other reply than to walk slowly from the room. Through the sunlight and noise of the

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LITERARY 9 Was she the greedy thing he had derided? She craved self-denial for herself, but de- pression hung upon her like a weight as she faced self conviction, one accusation after another iiaming and retreating be- fore her. All he had said was true. Without loving him she had enjoyed mastering him. She had never wanted to marry him, yet she would have been sorry to marry, and step from a pic- see him turesque role to be somebody's husband. As Lady Poyndale she had meant to be very nice to him, present him to rich clients who would buy his pictures, keep the sparkle of the old fellowship to leaven her days, and all the while enjoy know- ing that she was standing between him and the sun-that he was loving her si- lently, miserably, in his stubborn, stormy way. She had been this sort of a woman, something of a metaphysical vampireg and he had told her so in a kiss of an- guish and rebellion. But she could not analyze the magic accomplished by that kiss further. Her accounting had created a mortal fear. She was shivering when her maid's defer- ential knock fell on the door, and she knew it was time to dress for dinner and Lord Poyndale. ' Elizabeth's reputation as a beauty was very secure, but on this' night there was an unusual splendor about her that those who saw her remembered long after. She was ofa startling pallor, but her eyes were burning. Her gown fell about her like a snow mistgmany red roses wreath- ed her hairy the cold flash of diamonds touched her throat and bosom. She was a spirit woman with passionate eyes. Lord Poyndale was the last of the guests to come. As Elizabeth waited for him, one thought kept facing her, and each moment its aspect grew more odious: she was to be married to a man she did not love because he was Lord Poyndale. He was an ugly, clever, and amusing man, and she had liked himg but marriage with him would never have occurred to her or to her father had he not represented an earldom, Boscowan Abbey in Lincolnshire. For a month she had not seen him, not since the afternoon he had placed the Poyndale ruby on her finger. His wooing had been stately, his expressions of endearment temperate, and he had kissed her hand that day. These and other like thoughts fioated like mists about the head of the inseparable thought, that ever and anon raised its Sphinxlike head and glared darkly at her. She was to be' married to a mlm she did not love because he was Lord Poyndale. When she saw him crossing the room to her the thought was routed by a ques- tion that rang from her affrighted heart: 'tWhat is the thing I am about to do? She heard it when she gave him her hand, 'as his eyes rested on her with sat- isfaction: as his square, widespread teeth showed in a complacent smile under his military mustache. Was it nice of you to bolt today when I was expected for luncheon? he asked. After a month's absence too-eh? Well, never mind, I dare say I deserved it. I've seemed a tepid lover, Elizabeth, I'll admit. That beastly Colorado mining business kept me here all these weeks, but now that you've fooled me-eh?-eh?-it will be dilferent, you know. You look ripping -color a little bit off, that's all. l'm longing to see you tonight when the rest go. Your father agreed with me today there's no need for delay. You might as well be a true American girl and get mar- ried under the Stars and Stripes, and go straight to Boscowan as Lady Poyndale- eh?--eh? His trick of quick questioning with a convulsion of noiseless laughter had never irritated her -before-now she hated it-she seemed to hate him. Yet as she went hurriedly from him, she knew she was unjust. Hers had been a willing sale, though never recognized as such un- til tonight. Yet, fair or unfair, it was torture to look at him during the dinner, and an atmosphere of dire dread hung about her. Except for a score or so of words spoken by a man opposite to her, the hours at the table were without the slightest grain of interest to Elizabeth. These, though not meant for her, came to her over the liowers and candles as if spoken to her only: I had a letter from Colonel Hethering- ton a short time ago. He's crazy over the decorating and furnishings of his Paris house. lt's going to be a dream. He's given the mural decorating, by the way, to young Varick-you know him.