“If one could be sure of that.” He looked down at the full lips that trembled a little, at the eyes with flames back of them, and walked back to Cleeburg. “Think I’ll turn in, old man.”
Half an hour later Cleeburg stopped at the door of his wife’s room on the way to his own. She was letting down her hair. It fell like a loosened mane over neck and shoulders. He took a deep breath, more of wonder than any other emotion. She turned, saw him and got suddenly to her feet.
“Have you seen what a night it is, ’Dolph?”
She opened the French windows. A gale of dead leaves flung itself into the room. She lifted her face, pulled her purple silk kimono closer and stepped on the balcony. He tried to halt her with a warning against catching cold. She laughed and beckoned to him.
Black clouds raced across the moon. Trees dashed against the house with all the impotence of human effort against the walls of Destiny. There was no rain. The wind leaped up and drove Nature before it, a mocking god bent on destruction.
“By godfrey, if you could only get that on the stage!” whistled Cleeburg.
[192]
] Gloria said nothing. Her face was still lifted, lips apart. Her arms darted out so that the long kimono
sleeves spread like wings. Her whole body was poised as if for flight.
Cleeburg stepped back and looked at her.
She was part of the storm-torn night. Something about the abandon of the scene frightened him.