The Crimson Tide Part 30

"You know Marya and Vanya are married--that is, they live together."

And Shotwell heard her.

"Is that true?" he said in a low voice to Palla.

"Why, yes."

He remained silent so long that she added: "The tie is not looser than the old-fas.h.i.+oned one. More rigid, perhaps, because they are on their honour."

"And if they tire of each other?"

"You, also, have divorce," said the girl, smiling.

"Do you?"

"It is beastly to live together where love does not exist. People who believe as they do--as I do--merely separate."

"And contract another alliance if they wish?"

"Do not your divorcees remarry if they wish?"

"What becomes of the children?" he demanded sullenly.

"What becomes of them when your courts divorce their parents?"

"I see. It's all a parody on lawful regularity."

"I'm sorry you speak of it that way----"

The girl's face flushed and she extended her hand toward her wine gla.s.s.

"I didn't intend to hurt you, Palla," he said.

She drew a quick breath, looked up, smiled: "You didn't mean to," she said. Then into her brown eyes came the delicious glimmer:

"May I whisper to you, Jim? Is it too rude?"

He inclined his head and felt the thrill of her breath:

"Shall we drink one gla.s.s together--to each other alone?"

"Yes."

"To a dear comrades.h.i.+p, and close!... And not too desperate!" she added, as her glance flashed into hidden laughter.

They drank, not daring to look toward each other. And Palla's careless gaze, slowly sweeping the circle, finally met Marya's--as she knew it must. Both smiled, touching each other at once with invisible antennae--always searching, exploring under the glimmering aura what no male ever discovered or comprehended.

There was, in the living room above, a little more music--a song or two before the guests departed.

Marya, a little apart, turned to Shotwell:

"You find our Russian folk-song amusing?"

"Wonderful!"

"If, by any chance, you should remember that I am at home on Thursdays, there is a song I think that might interest you." She let her eyes rest on him with a curious stillness in their depths:

"The song is called _Lada_," she said in a voice so low that he just heard her. The next moment she was taking leave of Palla; kissed her.

Vanya enveloped her in her wrap.

Estridge called up a taxi; and presently went away with Ilse.

Very slowly Palla came back to the centre of the room, where Shotwell stood. The scent of flowers was in his nostrils, his throat; the girl herself seemed saturated with their perfume as he took her into his arms.

"So you didn't like my friends, Jim," she ventured.

"Yes, I did."

"I was afraid they might have shocked you."

He said drily: "It isn't a case of being shocked. It's more like being bored."

"Oh. My friends bore you?"

"Their morals do.... Is Ilse that sort, too?"

"That sort?"

"You know what I mean."

"I suppose she is."

"Not inclined to bother herself with the formalities of marriage?"

"I suppose not."

"It's a mischievous, ridiculous, immoral business!" he said hotly.

"Why, to look at you--at Ilse--at Miss Lanois----"

"We don't look like very immoral people, do we?" she said, laughingly.

The light raillery in her laughter angered him, and he released her and began to pace the room nervously.

"See here, Palla," he said roughly, "suppose I accept you at your own valuation!"

"I value myself very highly, Jim."