Black Oxen Part 12

"Like Atlantic City?"

"No. It is merely an interminable line of ostentatiously rich hotels on a _board walk_! None of the grace and dignity of Ostend--poor Ostend as it used to be. The digue was one of the most brilliant sights in Europe--but no doubt you have seen it," she added politely.

"Yes, I spent a week there once, but Bruges interested me more. I was very young at the time."

"You must have been! Don't you like to gamble? The Kursaal could be very exciting."

"Oh, yes, I like to gamble occasionally." (G.o.d! What ba.n.a.l talk!) "Gambling with life, however, is a long sight more exciting."

"Yes, is it not? Atlantic City might do you good. You do not look at all well."

"Never felt better in my life. A bit tired. Generally am at this time of the year. May take a run down to Florida."

"I should," she said politely. "Shall you stay long?"

"That depends." (Presence of servants superfluous!) "Are you fond of the sea?"

"I detest it--that boundless flat gray waste. A wild and rocky coast in a terrific storm, yes--but not that moving gray plain that comes in and falls down, comes in and falls down. It is the mountains I turn to when I can. I often long for the Austrian Alps. The Dolomites! The translucent green lakes like enormous emeralds, sparkling in the sun and set in straight white walls. A glimpse of pine forest beyond. The roar of an avalanche in the night."

"New York and Atlantic City _must_ seem prosaic." He had never felt so polite. "I suppose you are eager to return?" (Why in h.e.l.l don't those servants bring the dinner!)

"I have not seen the Alps since two years before the war. Some day--yes!

Oh, yes! Shall we sit down?"

The two men entered with enormous dignity bearing plates of oysters as if offering the Holy Grail and the head of Saint John the Baptist on a charger. Impossible to a.s.sociate cla.s.s-consciousness with beings who looked as impersonal as fate, and would have regarded a fork out of alignment as a stain on their private 'scutcheon. They performed the rite of placing the oysters on the table and retired.

Madame Zattiany and Clavering adjusted themselves to the Gothic period.

The oysters were succulent. They discussed the weather.

"This was a happy thought," he said. "It feels like a blizzard outside."

"The radiator in the dining-room is out of order."

"Oh!"

She was a woman of the world. Why in thunder didn't she make things easier? Had she asked him here merely because she was too bored to eat alone? He hated small talk. There was nothing he wanted less than the personalities of their previous conversations, but she might have entertained him. She was eating her oysters daintily and giving him the benefit of her dark brown eyelashes. Possibly she was merely in the mood for comfortable silences with an established friend. Well, he was not.

Pa.s.sion had subsided but his nerves jangled.

And inspiration came with the soup and some excellent sherry.

"By the way! Do you remember I asked you--at that last first-night--if you wouldn't like to see something of the Sophisticates?"

"The what?"

"Some of them still like to call themselves Intellectuals, but that t.i.tle--Intelligentsia--is now claimed by every white collar in Europe who has turned Socialist or Revolutionist. He may have the intellect of a cabbage, but he wants a 'new order.' We still have a few pseudo-socialists among our busy young brains, but youth must have its ideals and they can originate nothing better. I thought I'd coin a new head-line that would embrace all of us."

"It is comprehensive! Well?"

"A friend of mine, Gora Dwight--at present 'foremost woman author of America'--is giving a party next Sat.u.r.day night. I'd like enormously to take you."

"But I do not know Miss Dwight."

"She will call in due form. I a.s.sure you she understands the conventions. Of course, you need not see her, but she will leave a card.

Not that it wouldn't be quite proper for me merely to take you."

"I should prefer that she called. Then--yes, I should like to go. Thank you."

The men arrived with the entree and departed with the soup plates.

Once more he had an inspiration.

"Poor old Dinwiddie's laid up with the gout."

"Really? He called a day or two after the dinner, and I enjoyed hearing him talk about the New York of his youth--and of Mary's. Unfortunately, I was out when he called again. But I have seen Mr. Osborne twice.

These are his flowers. He also sent me several books."

"What were they?" growled Clavering. He remembered with dismay that he hadn't even sent her the usual tribute of flowers. There had been no place in his mind for the small amenities.

"A verboten romance called 'Jurgen.' Why verboten? Because it is too good for the American public? 'Main Street.' For me, it might as well have been written in Greek. 'The Domesday Book.' A great story. 'Seed of the Sun.' To enlighten me on the 'j.a.panese Question.' 'Cytherea.'

Wonderful English. Why is it not also verboten?"

"Even censors must sleep. Is that all he sent you?"

"I am waiting for the chocolates--but possibly those are sent only by the very young men to the very young girls."

He glowered at his plate. "Do you like chocolates? I'll send some tomorrow. I've been very remiss, I'm afraid, but I've lost the habit."

"I detest chocolates."

Squabs and green peas displaced the entree. The burgundy was admirable.

Once more he was permitted to gaze at her eyelashes. He plunged desperately. "The name Marie doesn't suit you. If ever I know you well enough I shall call you Mary. It suits your vast repose. That is why ordinary Marys are nicknamed 'Mamie' or 'Mame.'"

"I was christened Mary." She raised her eyes. They were no longer wise and unfathomable. They looked as young as his own. Probably younger, he reflected. She looked appealing and girlish. Once more he longed to protect her.

"Do you want to call me Mary?" she asked, smiling.

"I hardly know whether I do or not... . There's something else I should tell you. I swore I'd never ask you any more questions--but I--well, Dinwiddie kept on the scent until he was laid up. One of the Thornhills verified your story in so far as he remembered that a cousin had settled in Virginia and then moved on to Paris. There his information stopped... . But ... Dinwiddie met a Countess Loyos at dinner."

"Countess Loyos?"

"Yes--know her?"

"Mathilde Loyos? She is one of my oldest friends."

"No doubt you'd like to see her. I can get her address for you."

"There is nothing I want less than to see her. Nor any one else from Austria--at present."