Hudson River Bracketed · Book VI · Chapter 33 (2/2)

The door opened on the softly lit anteroom. A maid took his hat and coat, and said: “This way;” and there she sat, by the fire in the library, alone. She wore something dark and lacy, through which her upper arms showed; and the sober book-lined room, with its shaded lamps, and a few lilylike crimson flowers in a tall jar, seemed a part of her, the necessary background to her aloof and reticent grace. Vance recalled the room in which he had left Laura Lou, and at the same moment, joined to that evocation, came the vision of this woman turning from him, with a careless pleasantry, in that other room at the Willows where he had cast his soul at her feet.⁠ ⁠… No, there could be no common meeting ground for him and Halo Tarrant; the conditions of life divided them too sharply. Material well-being, security from hunger and debt, made people callous and unfeeling, perhaps without any fault of their own. But he had been right in deciding not to see her again, and wrong in yielding to the impulse which had led him to her tonight.

“Vance⁠—how glad I am!” she said, rising and holding out her two hands in the old friendly way.

He stood near the door, bound hand and foot in coils of awkwardness and resentment. “You went to see my wife today,” he began, and stopped, not knowing how to go on.

Mrs. Tarrant raised her eyebrows slightly. “Yes. It was so long since I’d had any news of either of you. I thought she was not looking well the day she lunched here⁠ ⁠… and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do.⁠ ⁠…”

“No. There’s nothing you can do.”

He felt the surprise and pain in her eyes without daring to meet them. “I’m sorry,” she rejoined simply. “But I’m glad you’ve come this evening. Sit down, won’t you, Vance? I’m all alone⁠—Lewis is at a man’s dinner, and I thought I’d snatch a quiet evening with my books.”

Vance still hung in the middle of the wide space between the door and the fireplace. “I guess I won’t interrupt you then,” he said, still at a loss for his next phrase.

“Interrupt me? How can you say that? You know I’ve wanted a talk with you for a long time.”

“No, I didn’t know⁠ ⁠… I mean⁠ ⁠…” He broke off suddenly. “My wife wasn’t well when you called. You oughtn’t to have gone up into her room without her asking you,” he blurted out.

“Vance!”

“Can’t you see how people feel,” he continued passionately, “when somebody like you, coming out of this⁠—” he took in the room with a gesture of reproach, “when you come into the kind of place we have to live in, and try to pretend that there can ever be anything in common between our lives and yours?”

Mrs. Tarrant, resting one hand on the back of her chair, still gazed at him in perplexity. “Vance⁠—I don’t understand. Did Laura Lou object to my visit?”

“She felt about it the way I do. We know you mean to be kind. But it’s no use. We don’t belong to your kind of people⁠—never will. And it just complicates things for me if you⁠ ⁠…” He checked himself, conscious that he was betraying what he had meant to conceal.

“I see,” she murmured in a low voice. There was an interval of silence; then she said: “I’m sorry to have done anything stupid. You know I’m impulsive, and not used to standing on ceremony. I went to see Laura Lou because I wanted to have news of you both, and because I particularly want you to come here some evening to meet a few people who really care for your book, and would talk to you intelligently about it. You ought to see more people of that sort⁠—give them a chance to know you and talk with you. It would stimulate you, I’m sure, and be good for your work.”

Vance felt his colour rising. It was difficult to reply in a spirit of animosity to words so simple and kindly. But the suggestion of the evening party recalled Laura Lou’s resentment.

“Thank you⁠—but that’s no use either. Evening parties, I mean. They’re not for people like us.⁠ ⁠…”

She did not answer immediately; then she said: “Won’t you sit down, Vance? I hoped you’d come for a long talk.⁠ ⁠…”

He replied, without noticing her request: “I came to say we’re much obliged to you for thinking of us, but it’s no use your bothering⁠—really no use.”

She moved nearer and laid her hand on his. “Vance⁠—what’s wrong? What has happened? How can you speak to a friend of ‘bothering’ about you? If you don’t want to meet people, I won’t invite them; but that seems no reason why you and I shouldn’t talk together sometimes in the old way. Perhaps you haven’t missed our talks as much as I have⁠—perhaps they didn’t count as much in your life as they did in mine.⁠ ⁠…”

She paused, and suddenly he flung up his hands and hid his face in them. “Not count⁠—not count in my life?”

He felt her fingers gently slipped through his, drawing his hands down so that his face was uncovered to her scrutiny and his eyes were forced to look into hers. “Not count⁠ ⁠… not count?” He stared at her through a blur of tears.

“They did, Vance? I’m so glad. Then why try to deny it? Why shouldn’t we just go back to where we were before? I’m sure you’ve got lots to tell me about your new plans.⁠ ⁠…”

He snatched his hands away and hid his face again, struggling to choke back his sobs. What would she think⁠—what would she suppose? But it was no use fighting against the surge of joy and agony that caught him and shook him like a young tree in a spring gale. He stammered out: “I’m a fool.⁠ ⁠… You mustn’t mind me.⁠ ⁠… I’ve been through hell lately.⁠ ⁠… Just let me sit here a little while without talking, till I get used to you again.⁠ ⁠…” and without a word she went back to her chair and sat there silently, the shaded lamplight on her quiet head.