“I don’t know,” he said to Mrs. Lent; “he’s broad-guage, that man. He’s so infatuated now that he doesn’t know where he’s at. But he’ll wake up, and then I don’t know that even Helena Belmont will be able to manage him. A man hates to go back on a girl, anyhow; he doesn’t exactly know how to do it.”
“Well, I wish he’d hurry and make up his mind,” said Mrs. Lent, “for he looks like a funeral. He flirted with even poor little me when he first came, but I haven’t seen that delightfully wicked expression in his eyes for a week.”
CHAPTER XIV.
Clive would not sit up all night with Helena, but they spent hours of the day in the forest, and there was nothing funereal in his aspect when they were alone. One morning Helena’s maid brought her a note when she came to awaken her.
“My dear Miss Belmont” (it ran),—“I am going away for a few days. I shall be back on Monday, at four.
“Yours truly,
“Owin Clive.”
Helena stared at the abrupt, formal missive in dismay for a moment; then laughed. She had seen men struggle in her net before. She knew that he would keep his word and return, and had perfect faith in the power of her seductive charm, no matter what good resolve he might accomplish when away.
It was a hot day, and her guests were too indolent to do anything but lie about and smoke and read. They did not want to be entertained, and she let them alone and spent the day in the rose-garden in the shade of the oaks. She rather enjoyed thinking of Clive, for variety, and anticipating his return. She concocted clever arguments and convincing appeals. She saw herself in the gowns she would wear when he was with her again, and was glad for the wealth that gave such potent aid to her beauty. She was very happy: the future was so exquisite that she trembled and grew breathless at the thought of it.
The next day she sat on a ledge below the crest of the cliffs, and stared at the huge restless waves of the Pacific rearing against the outlying rocks, falling with their baffled roar. There was neither peace, nor reason, nor power of anticipation in her. She was insensible of any instinct beyond an insufferable desire for his physical presence.
That night she went to bed glad with the thought that she should see him in sixteen hours, and pictured their meeting so often and variously, and struck a match to look at the clock so many times, that she slept little. The next morning she was so nervous and apprehensive that the placid conversation of her guests was intolerable, and she would not drive with them. After luncheon she went up to a favorite spot in the forest, directing one of the Chinese servants to conduct Clive to her when he returned.