The Window-Gazer Part 37

The car was giving trouble. For a few moments its eccentricities required its driver's undivided attention. Even when it was running smoothly again, he appeared preoccupied. But Desire was seldom in a hurry. She waited until he was quite ready.

"You learned something--about love?" asked John gruffly.

"Yes. Have you a sore throat? Your voice sounds all dusty. I used to think," she went on dreamily, "that love was something that came from outside. That it depended on things. But it doesn't depend on anything and it's not outside at all."

"And you found this out, today?"

"Yes. I saw it, in Miss Martin. It was quite plain. What idiots we were to pity her!"

"Did we pity her?"

The question was mechanical. John was not thinking of Miss Martin. He was thinking of the faint rose upon Desire's half-turned cheek. Desire blus.h.i.+ng!

"Of course we did. And we had no right. And there is no need."

"Don't let's do it, then," said John. Out of the corner of his eye he saw, with a quickening of his pulse, how stirred she was. And his wonder mounted. That Desire, of the cool, grey eyes and unwarmed smile, should speak of love at all was sufficiently amazing, but that she should speak of it with tinted cheek was a miracle.

Yet this, he quickly remembered, was something which he had himself foreseen. He had never really accepted Spence's theory that early disillusion had seriously poisoned the lifesprings natural to her age.

Her awakening had been certain. He had warned Spence that she would wake! He felt all the exultation of a prophet who sees his prophecy fulfilled. But common sense urged caution. To frighten her now might be fatal. He tried to bring his mind back to Miss Martin.

"At least," he said, "our intentions were admirable. We were trying to help her."

"We were being very impertinent," affirmed Desire. "Benis told me so this morning."

"Benis told you?" in surprise.

"Well, he didn't exactly tell me. But I am sure he wanted to."

This was too subtle for the doctor. There were times when he frankly admitted his inability to bridge Desire's conversational chasms. He was often puzzled by the things she did not say.

"What was Benis thinking of," he said irritably, "to let you come out in that bread cart?"

Desire laughed. "I hope he was thinking of the Significance of the Totem. But I'm almost sure he wasn't."

"Does he ever think of anything but that blessed book of his?"

"I'm afraid he does--occasionally."

"You mean," with sharpened interest, "that he isn't quite as keen on it as he used to be?"

"I mean that he doesn't like me to work too hard."

"Oh, I see. Perhaps he does not wish you to work too hard for me, either?"

Desire folded her hands upon her bag and looked primly into s.p.a.ce.

"He is a very considerate employer," she remarked mildly. "Take care--you nearly hit that hen!"

"Oh, d--bother the hen!"

"And he never swears," added Desire with gentle dignity.

They drove for a mile or so without remark and then, Desire, who had something to say, reopened the conversation without rancour.

"Don't be cross," she said. "As a matter of fact Benis does swear sometimes. He is nervous, you know. I sometimes wonder if it is all due to sh.e.l.l shock, or whether it is a result of his--er--other experience."

For the second time that day the car skidded. And for the second time, its unfortunate driver was called upon to give it his whole attention.

Desire waited.

"I mean his former love affair," said she when conversation was again possible.

"His--I don't know," said John weakly.

Desire looked sceptical.

"Don't fancy I want to question you," she said with haughtiness. "But I don't see how you can help knowing. You are his doctor. And his friend, too. He must have told you. Didn't he?"

"He mentioned something--er--that is to say--"

"Oh, don't hesitate! Don't fancy that I mind. I don't, of course. And I am not curious. Although any-one might be curious. I won't ask you questions. I am only mildly interested. It is entirely for his own good that I should like to know if she is quite as wonderful as he thinks.

Is she, John?"

"I--I don't know," stammered the wretched John.

Desire nodded patiently.

"You mean you don't know how wonderful he thought her? But did you think her very wonderful, John?"

"No, I didn't"

"You thought her plain?"

"No, I--I didn't think of her at all."

"You mean that you found her insignificant?"

The doctor made a sound which Desire was pleased to interpret as a.s.sent.

"I'm not surprised," said she earnestly. "Because, from the description Benis gave, I felt sure he was exaggerating. Not that it makes any difference, because, if he thought she was like that, what she really was like didn't matter. That," with plaintive triumph, "is one of the things I learned today."

The doctor said nothing. It was the only thing which he felt it safe to say.

CHAPTER XXVI

The professor was smoking under the maples by the front steps when the car drove up. He looked very cool, very comfortable and very sure of himself--entirely too sure of himself, in John's opinion. John, who at the moment, felt neither cool nor comfortable, and anything but sure, observed him with envy and pity. Envy for so obvious a content, pity for an ignorance which made content possible.