“Brave! Noble!” she whispered. “I knew it. Oh, I understand so well! It’s for me you’re doing this. How proud I am of you!”
Then, with my returning sense of safety, the dramatic instinct began to seethe in me. Apparently I had got out of the difficulty easily enough. Now to end things gracefully.
“Oh, what an irony life is!” I breathed. “How happy we could have been, just we two in some garden of roses. Oh, if we were only free, free to fly to the ends of the earth together, to the heart of the desert, to the shadow of the pole—only together! Why did we meet like this, too late, too late?”
“Is it too late?” she panted, catching fire at my words. “Why should we let life cheat us of our joy? Take me away, darling, to some far, far land where no one will know us, where we can live, love, dream. What does it matter? There will be a ten days’ scandal; he will get a divorce; all will soon be forgotten. Oh, take me away, sweetheart; take me away!”
By this time I was quite under the spell of my histrionic imagination. Here was a dramatic situation, and, though the heavens fall, I must work it out artistically. I threw caution to the winds and my arms around the lady.
“Yes,” I cried. “Come with me. Come now, let us fly together. I want you; I need you; I cannot live without you. Make me the happiest man in the world. Let me live for you, just to adore you, to make your life one long, sweet dream of bliss.”
These were phrases from one of my novels, and they slipped out almost unconsciously. Again in that convenient mirror I saw myself with parted lips and eyes agleam. “How well I’m doing this!” the artist in me applauded. “Ass! Ass!” hissed the critical overself. My attitude was a picture of passionate supplication, yet my whole heart was a prayer to the guardian that watches over fools.
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” she cried; “it’s terrible. Yes, yes, I’ll go now. Let’s lose no time in case I weaken ... at once.... I’ll just get my hat and cloak. Wait a moment—”
She was gone. Horror of horrors! What had I done? Here I was eloping with a woman for whom I did not care two pins. What mad folly had got into me? As I stared blankly at the door through which she had passed it seemed to be suddenly invested with all the properties of tragedy. Soon she would emerge from it clad for the flight, and—I must accompany her. Could I not escape? The window? But no, it was six stories high. By heaven, I must go through with it! Let my life be ruined, I must play the game. As I sat there, waiting for her to reappear, never in the history of eloping humanity was there man more miserable.
Then at last she came— Oh, merciful gods, without her hat!