Drewena sighed. “How I wish,” she said, “that we could have stayed out on the terrace!—Perhaps we can come up here after the guests have gone.... This bed is so deep and wide, we’ll cool off quickly.... And to-morrow we can go to a little cottage I have up on the coast near Cape Cod.... We’ll listen to the wind—and there’ll be snow, and the surf breaking on the rocks under our doorstep.... You’ll carry a lamp to help me to my bed. I want to be dependent on you—oh! you understand!” Drewena put her gentle hands on Miriam’s cheeks. “They’re hot, Miriam. Perhaps you are excited, too—perhaps I won’t have to go away as I told Tai! He’s my little protegé! I’ll send him to France with his tutor.... My dearest, tell me that I needn’t go!”
Miriam petted her gently and explained quite simply that of course she didn’t have to leave; but when that was said, she kept repeating, “Go!—go!—go!—” continuing to blend the words until they became untranslatable.
Drewena looked at her in astonishment.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Those words—they have a cadence that makes me feel insane—Please don’t talk like that!... Dear God!—All I ask is that you bear with me. I’d never cheat Deane. It’s on a different plane. Quite different. Kiss my lips, Miriam—I’m tired—so tired.”
“Aye,” said Miriam gently, “that I can do! For you’re as sweet a little maiden as I’ve ever seen, lying so in the moonlight.” And bending over, she pressed her lips upon Drewena’s. The white-tinted hair fell over her shoulders and Drewena shuddered as Deane had shuddered. There was no distaste, for Drewena lay quietly now in Miriam’s arms, only a slight, convulsive movement betraying her passion. Then Miriam sat up and leaned away as though into the moon; for a feeling had come over her during that kiss that she could not interpret. It was a half sick, half desirous mood of great intensity. And so, unaccustomed to tempering her emotions, she threw Drewena back upon the bed and held her tightly, her mouth pressing on her throat. Drewena did not resist until the desire had grown and Miriam groped blindly. Then quickly Drewena struggled away and as quickly turned on the lamps.
“Not now,” she laughed, a splendid light in her eyes. “Later—after the party. Oh,” she exclaimed, bending toward her friend, “it’s the heaven I thought I’d never find—the soul, the mind, the body.... But now, we must hurry and touch ourselves up.” And she hung the long, jet pendants from Miriam’s ears. So the gowns were smoothed out, the hair recombed and pinned, the make-up applied anew.
When at last they entered the drawing room there was only the faintest buzzing of interest among the more intrepid of the gossipers. Even this ceased as Drewena, her arm linked closely in Miriam’s, stopped at various groups to introduce her friend. Docky stopped chattering just long enough to size up Miriam’s figure.
“Miriam, my dear,” she said at once, “if I’d known you were coming, I’d have worn my new gown of cardinal red. To think!—you see me in the faded splendor of this musty blue! You must come and chat with us this evening.” She looked at Miriam intently and pulled her shawl even tighter. Then she smiled, a good deal of understanding and more than that, compassion, expressed in her face. When Drewena took Miriam with her to the punchbowl, Beulah turned on Docky in a fury.
“Only past sixty, and you’re back to childhood! I could scratch your eyes out! Miriam is simply lovely, and now you’ve driven her away!”