“I wish you would think,” he said, slowly, “and tell me what you think—” Then he added something he had not at all intended to say: “And tell me if it is possible for a man to love two girls at the same time....”
CHAPTER XX
Kendall Ware leaned out of a window of the apartment, looking down at the avenue beneath. He had an unobstructed view of the sidewalk as far as the corner. It was time for Andree to arrive, and he was watching for her. Taxicabs rattled past, a huge camion manufactured in America and driven by an American rumbled along; a French officer, resplendent with gold braid and medals and red trousers, walked by gaily, a beautiful woman on each side; the concierge was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the entrance; a child or two in the inevitable black outer garment or smock played near a bench ... and then came Andree. She was all in white, as he loved to see her best. Perhaps it was because she had been all in white when he saw her for the first time. She looked very tiny from his place four stories above the street, and he watched her with something of the tender amusement with which one watches a child when it is unconscious of one’s presence.
Andree approached in a determined, business-like manner. One could tell at once that she had a destination in view. The quaint stiffness of her gait was accentuated by the angle from which he looked at her, as was her slenderness. He watched to see if she would turn her head or allow her eyes to vary from that intent, straight-ahead gaze which seemed to see nothing. They did not vary. She was prim. Prim was the word, he thought.... The white tam was jaunty, but it did not give her an air of jauntiness; instead of doing so it gave quite another impression—that of inexperienced youth, youth untouched by the events of life, youth that had yet to come to a knowledge that there was evil in the world. That was a great deal for a tam-o’-shanter to tell, but somehow it managed to tell it. Ken leaned farther out to watch her as she came directly underneath, wondering if she would glance up at the windows.
She did glance upward, suddenly, as if something had fallen at her feet and startled her. She saw Ken, but she neither smiled nor waved, and dropped her eyes again as quickly as she had raised them. But there was about her then an air of relief, as if she had sighed audibly.... He was there waiting for her eagerly; she had seen it, and her apprehensions, if she had any, were quieted.
Ken listened for her step upon the stairs, but heard no sound until the door-bell rang with a sort of tentative, hesitating ring. It seemed as if she could touch nothing without imparting some character, something of her mood of the moment.... He opened the door and she raised her eyes to his and looked into his face a moment, her face perfectly immobile. She stood very straight and still, her arms stiffly at her sides.
“My dear,” he said, and held out his arms to her.
She smiled shyly, diffidently, as she allowed him to take her in his arms and kiss her. She was not responsive, but seemed rather speculative.... As if she were allowing this thing to happen to see if it were really going to happen.... And then she returned his kiss gravely, as much as to say: “Yes, this can really happen. It is so. I am much relieved.”
“You are triste,” he said, anxiously.
“Mais non.... Mais non....”