Chapter XIII

CHAPTER XIII "Russ had my key last night, and when he brought it back [ just snatched it and slammed the door," Pauline lamented. "M-mm," said Marta, "I know I mean, he said he had it. In the. hal!." She peered at her melon. "I might have asked him in for five minutes," said Pauline mournfully. "There'd have been no harm. ..." [f Marta said there wouldn't .•• "None whatever," Marta assured her. "Why didn't you?" Pauline said: "I thought it was you knocking. The instant I'm alone, I tear off all my clothes, so I slid into a kimono--and there was Russ." ... Marta could see him. She giggled. He'd be trying to figure it out. At least, Pauline had cleared herself, by the width of the door.•.. Marta thought, he can only assume that at intervals of eight years [ have a brain storm, with variations. "I couldn't sleep anyhow," said Pauline. "Marta, when Russ comes over to London," she rushed through her request, "couldn't I have one day?" Marta heard her with familiar astonishment. It's uncanny, Pa~line actually can read one's mind by flashes, whenever one IS8 N EVE R ASK THE END is off-guard. And instead of being any use, it confuses her. Because the mind is a deep pool, froth and rip ples and straws on the surface and God knows what down below, water-weeds and drowned things. All [ can do is watch and listen and piece together from the outside and then make my mistakes and let it go at that. But she can't help shifting and changing in re sponse.

"All right," said Marta, powerless in the tangle she had made. Russ would certainly catch her in the least attempt to manage him. Left to chance, the arrange ment might occur naturally, if Pauline were free to accept, assured that Marta didn't mind. Marta really didn't mind. Like that immortal featherbrain, Mrs. Bennet, she didn't mind anything .•••She felt, inex plicably, as she used to when she was eighteen, com paring notes-about men, of course-with Susie behind the screen at the Benton Hotel, as chaste and as un moral as children. W 8 were young, we were merry, 'We 'Were very, very wise, and the door stood open at the feast •••She had never recaptured the mood since she fell in love with Chris. Till this moment. She hadn't recognized it immediately •.• "You'll see Russ again in Paris, and next spring in New York," Pauline extenuated. She might, if he didn't have to go to Rome. "You're likely to see him in Seattle first," said Marta. She hoped sincerely that his Easter leave might not fail. The sea voyage was exactly what he needed; and why shouldn't Pauline N EVE R ASK THE END 159 have a few days? Pauline grew radiant, expanding -into plans. We're positively dithering, Marta thought, and didn't mind that either. Pauline has to keep a kind of game going constantly; whenever she stops she remembers the children. She uses -David and Clint Charles for it; even her indecision is part of it. And Russ is dependable, he won't let her down. . . • "Is that golf resort in the mountains?" Marta asked, with genuine concern. "Maybe altitude is bad for high blood pressure-or is it the opposite?" Pauline was stricken. "1 don't know, I'll consult my doctor; we could take a trip on the Sound instead, or to Victoria.» They were seriously engrossed, prescribing and con sulting-he did look better than in Paris two weeks ago, but then he had a cold-when Russ paused in the entrance of the coffee-room. He had changed to a summer tweed, his eyes were clear, his smooth face as fresh as his collar. They stared at him as he came toward their table; they stuttered over their good-mornings. "How are you?" he became conscious of the crossfire of. their scrutiny. "What is it-have I got egg on my tie?"

Pauline bit her lip; Marta hiccuped and smothered herself with her napkin. (COh, my goodness," she gurgled, "excuseitplease) we-" They broke down, giving a disjointed account of their solicitous conver sation. "We were taking the greatest care of you. We had practically tucked you into a wheel chair, and were bringing you soup and jelly, probably red flannel petti coats-and we looked around and there you were, 160 N EVE R ASK THE END blooming with health and growing younger before our very eyes, just out of a bandbox. Egg on your tie!" He couldn't pretend to scorn such honest flattery, but carried it off creditably. "Well, in Milan I dropped a forkful of noodles inside my waistcoat-those Italian noodles are about three inches long, and hot-I had the darned est struggle . • • No, thanks, 1 had breakfast sent up." They had only to register before leaving, a formality omitted the night before. Too late, Marta closed her passport; Russ was reading it over her shoulder. She glanced at Pauline's. "For heaven's sake," she ex claimed, "talk about growing younger-"

Pauline was unabashed. "What could I do? David offered to go with me to get my passport, and I've been lying to him about my age for years." "How you keep tab on what you've told that man I can't imagine," said Marta bitterly. "1t does require constant attention to detail," said Pauline, with modest pride.... Marta thought, I'm forty-one. The number prolonged itself in her mind like the muBled sound of an iron door closing slowly. Pauline was a few months older. Marta was charmed, she was exquisitely exasperated by Pauline's subter fuge and her own instinctive rise to it. As if they could, by turning a leaf or the stroke of a. pen, reverse the movement of the spheres. . . . Still, David believes Pauline. Because he wants to, on his own account . . . They emerged into the drowsy brightness of Sunday N EVE R A S I~ THE END 161 morning, fresh with the watery smell of washed pave ments and sprinkled bay-trees. A concierge had al ready fetched out a chair and settled himself for the day; a housewife in felt slippers crossed the street leisurely. You'd say, Marta reflected, that Liege is the sort of place where nothing ever happens . . . Albert was ready with the car. He drove with restored con fidence, naming villages to indicatethat he was familiar with his route. They thanked him while rejecting the information instinctively. Even in Paris, Marta realized, she had not wished she could speak French.

How restful not to understand, to remain ignorant of the griefs and anxieties which every mortal carries in his breast and betrays by the most casual word, by a gesture, an inflection. They would lunch at the Chateau. It had been built) or owned, Russ said, by King Leopold) the old king. Out of profits extracted bloodily from the Congo blacks, no doubt. He had yards of white whiskers, Marta contributed irrelevantly. And Cleo de Merode. . . • Wearing a tipsy crown and disreputable ermine robe, the old king existed, remote, unreal, and horrid as an ogre, in the Sunday newspaper supplements of her childhood. They blew across America like red and yellow leaves before a rising gale, filling a need for color and sensation in those pure, empty spaces. Her oldest sister's beau used to fetch them, with the weekly mail. In Arcady ... How Alma startled her once by 162 N EVE R ASK THE END saying that she did not desire perfection in human nature; it would be dull. Yet Alma is good, kind, unselfish, gentle. . . . Then virtue is not enough even for good people? Something in us craves danger and change and violence and the breaking of laws. Now may the devil take my soul, quoth King Henry, for God shall not have it. Not by compulsion.... Marta wished the child who was puzzled by Cleo's madonna face and ropes of pearls could have known that some day she would lunch at the ogre's castle. She would as soon have expected to By. Well, she had Bown, too.

With Lowrie Ives. At dusk, they were so far above earth that it dropped out of sight; they were alone in the ether, except for a single star. She could remember reading of the Wright's first Bight. So she could also remember before that. It left one gasping, to think of belonging to both ages-to have seen the world swing out in space, and nothing to steer by but one far-off nameless star . . . She had had enough. She wished, perfectly content, that there might be no tomorrow for her. The world is such a lovely place, she thought; and the two thoughts somehow did not seem to be contradictory. How fantastic that one can think in the same breath of God and the univ.erseand lunch and whether or not one would . . . She leaned back in her corner placidly, with her hands on her lap. Russ couldn't be expected to play up to both of them. He'd get his wires crossed. Pauline needed the assurance of contact. She was ready to fly to bits with nerves, N EVE R ASK THE END 163 after two bad nights. Marta knew the signs. She had been through it herself.

Pauline said, as if to a spoken cue, she had waked at four. There was a chime every hour. They, she surmised, didn't hear it. They wouldn't! Marta was sorry, she had not. Though she was craning her neck to observe a wayside tavern perched on a bridge, she caught the merest flash of Russ's glance toward her; he then gazed straight ahead. He had not heard the chime, he said. Or anything . . . He had hoped that maybe ... There he was, lonely off by himself. But nobody cared ... Slamming doors in his face.... Marta was drawn to attention as if by a spring. He was ragging her over Pauline's head! She had an im practicable impulse to box his ears. The motion of the car swayed her against his shoulder; she muttered, too low for Pauline to hear: "You son-of-a-gun-insulting a helpless woman!" She felt him laughing, though his features remained immobile; the contagion seized her. Oh, oh! .••Pauline regarded them injuriously: "Yes, you are the kind of people who drop off the.

moment they lay their heads on the pillow, and don't know a thing till they wake next morning. Let me tell you, you didn't know anything when you went to sleep, either." That finished them·; they uttered suf focated sounds of exceeding mirth. "Idiots," said Pauline, and immediately succumbed. "We got that," said Marta, drying her eyes, too demoralized to offer any defence. She was a woman 164 N EVE R ASK THE END scorned . • • Russ thought, then that wasn't what she meant last night, or it wouldn't strike her as funny. You can't tell ... Albert turned to assure them) by the landmarks, that they were nearing their destination. They said: "Yes, isn't it?" with half-witted intensity. The forest of Arden-it might well be. The stately conventional phrases of romantic literature became actual; dappled glades and velvet turf, shaded by mag nificent trees. The light grey stone fa~ade of the chateau was frivolously cheerful, innocent of history, swept and garnished. Tables were set on a terrace, under a vast orange-striped awning. The clean live sensation of the gravel lingered with Marta as she con sulted the menu. "I will have this." She was obliged to point to the item. "I can't pronounce it." Truite a la meuni8Ts, Russ told the waiter, with an accent that admitted no argument.