Abruptly he was conscious that it was happening. That this had to do with his restlessness. That possibly it was desire to see this girl which was disturbing him.
He realised, now, that he wanted to see Eris; was impatient at delay. Well, that was interesting anyway. And, now that the possible cause of discomfort seemed clearer, he decided to examine and analyse it coolly, professionally....
Toward one o’clock in the morning, dead tired, he gave it up. The cause of restlessness still abided with him. He fell asleep, weary of visualisation—young eyes, crystal-grey, that told him nothing, answered nothing—eyes virginal, unaware, immaculate, incorruptible.
CHAPTER XXI
WHEN Annan arrived at the Jane Street apartment, Eris had just telephoned Hattie, the negro maid, that she had been detained at the studio; would be late; and to say this to Mr. Annan.
So constantly yet unconsciously during the two days’ separation had he visualised this meeting, pictured it to the least detail, that this slight delay in realisation tightened a nervous tension of which he had been aware all day.
It was rather ridiculous; he had seen her only two days before. It had seemed much longer. Also, knowledge of her dinner engagement with Albert Smull had not quieted his impatience. But there had been nothing to do about it except to send her fresh roses and a great sheaf of lilies. Over the telephone he told Hattie to place these in her bed-room before she returned.
So now he picked up the evening paper in the little living-room and composed himself to wait.
The culinary clatter of Hattie in the kitchen came to him fitfully; shrill voices from ragged children at play in the sunset-flooded street; the grinding roar of motor trucks herded like leviathans toward their west-side corrals; the eternal jar and quiver of the vast, iron city. Otherwise, silence; a heated stillness in the isolated abode of Eris, “Daughter of Discord”; the subdued breath of his roses in the air, which glimmered with gilded sun-dust; red rays from the west painted across the eastern wall. And, possessing all, a hushed magic—a spell invisible—the intimacy of this absent girl;—its mystery, everywhere—in the shadowy doorway beyond, from which stole the scent of unseen lilies....