“Not yet,” she said quietly. Then she turned to the big man, and laid a hand on his arm. “You next, Frank?”
“Oh, well!” he laughed good-humouredly yet with a tinge of embarrassment. “I didn’t bargain for this confession business, but since it’s the rule, I must follow suit, I suppose. I’m a commonplace beggar! I’m pretty well content with things as they come. I’m not keen on any adventures that I know of; if I can have enough to be comfortable, that’s all I want. I’d like a nice wife, and a house with a bit of garden; and a youngster or two, and a runabout car, don’t you know, and the usual accessories! That’s about all I fancy. ‘Man wants but little here below.’”
“Frank plumps for comfort,” said Mrs Ingram, smiling. “His programme sounds distinctly restful, for a change. Take care of your figure, Frank! I should suggest mowing the garden as a helpful recreation. Next, please! Claudia!”
“Oh, money, please!” cried Claudia eagerly. “Lots of money, and a safe full of jewels. Do you know, I dress on forty pounds a year all told, and a rich cousin sends me cast-offs! I take them hungrily, but I hate her for it, and when I’m a millionaire I’ll cut her dead. A German Jew stock-broker, dear, or a Maharajah of ‘something-core,’ or a soap-boiler without h’s—anyone will do if he has enough money! I’d rather not, of course, but it’s the only way! Dear people, will you all come to my wedding?”
“Claudia, you are impossible! You ought to be ashamed!”
“Yes, I should, but I’m not! Isn’t it horrid of me? If I blow very loudly, do you think I shall go off this season?”
“Claudia speaks in her usual highly coloured fashion, but there’s no doubt about her aim. She wants money, and, incidentally, all that it can buy.—Adventure. Success. Comfort. Money. We are getting plenty of variety! Rupert, what are you going to give us?”
The man with the tired eyes and the firm chin leaned forward in his seat, with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin supported in the hollow of his hands. The firelight showed the delicate network of lines round eyes and mouth, the modelling of the long curved lips.
“I—want—Love!” he said quietly, and a stir of amazement passed round the circle of listeners. He looked round and smiled, a slow, amused smile. “Surprised, aren’t you? Didn’t expect that from me; but it isn’t as simple as it sounds. I’m not thinking of Frank’s ‘nice’ wife, and a house in the suburbs, the usual midsummer madness followed by settling down to live—stodgily!—ever after. I’m speaking of something big, primal, overwhelming; something that lasts. Love comes to most men in the course of their lives, a modicum of love. The dullest dog has his day, a day uplifted, glorified, when he walks like a god. Afterwards he looks back upon it from his padded arm-chair, and smiles—a smug smile. It was a moment of madness; now he is sane, that’s his point of view; but mine happens to be precisely the opposite! To me those moments are life, the only life worth living. The rest is a sleep. If I could have what I wish, I’d choose to love, to be loved, like the great masters in the art, the lovers par excellence of the ages. I’d be willing, if needs be, to sacrifice everything else, and count the world well lost. It would be a love not only of the senses, but of the mind, of the soul, and so it would live on, undimmed by the passing of youth. That is my dream, you understand! As regards expectation, I don’t share Mrs Ingram’s optimism. It’s not only myself who is involved, you see. It is another person, and my desires are so absurdly in excess of my deserts. Who am I that I should expect the extraordinary?”
He ceased, and again the silence fell. The girl in blue bit hard on her under lip and shrank back into the shadow; the girl who had wished for adventure drew a quick gasp of excitement; the woman who had lived, and gained her desire, drew a quivering sigh. Silent, immovable, in the shadow of the settle, sat the girl in white.