Not in the least did she feel like one of those old Gita Carterets. If they’d ever outraged their sense of decorum by doing such a thing and risked a cold in the head—thank heaven she never had colds—hoped Dr. Pelham wouldn’t sneeze—they’d have done it as a tribute to capitalized Romance . . . sake of one more enchanting memory . . . look back upon when suckling their first baby.
Doubted if they ever felt really romantic. Not enough imagination, probably. Merely sentimental.
Well, she didn’t feel romantic either. No ultimates to look forward to, no romance.
What on earth had possessed him to suggest such a thing? She could have got rid of Polly somehow and found plenty of opportunities to talk with him in the house or garden. Not because he wanted to make love to her—moonlight—solitude—night—all the rest of it. Including squawking ducks for chorus. Or was this the duck season? Or did they have wild ducks in New Jersey? She’d gone duck-hunting one night in California and it had been great fun although one got rather stiff.
She endeavored to concentrate on California. Gorgeous moonlight nights on the bay. Ferry-boats like fairy ships, glittering in the dark. Chain of lights “across the bay,” a necklace for the Queen Calafia Ordoñez de Montalvo had imagined far back in the centuries . . . Bare sharp hills. Fog moving in through the Golden Gate like a ship . . . California faded off the map.
Just an impulse, probably. Felt he had more to say and wanted to get it off his chest. No idea of making love to her; she need have no misgivings. He had a hot temper but a cold code of honor. Nor would he try to approach her obliquely. He had none of the subtlety of Eustace, the diabolic patience, the ability to cloak his desires and play a “wooing” game, while he watched for the right moment to strike. His self-control was of a different sort. Wonderful to break down that self-control, if things were different and she were different. But she had her own code.
Well, if their teeth didn’t chatter it would be something to remember when she was old. She really wanted to go more than anything else in the world. Oh, yes, wanted to go. Must have her drama—loved beauty, and the night was heavenly, in spite of the cold.
CHAPTER XXIV
She changed into a thick skirt and heavy sweater and discarded the fur coat in favor of a dark warm cape she had bought the year before to wear when she prowled in her woods at night. At five minutes to ten she walked swiftly but alertly down the avenue, feeling less romantic than conspiratorial.
As she approached the gates she saw Geoffrey standing before his car in the full moonlight.