Far different were Marian’s feelings on parting with him. His decision had taken her by surprise, until he had put fairly before her the reasons that were his motives. She had feigned willingness to share any degree of poverty with him, well knowing that she did not risk anything by so doing, but on the contrary fixed more firmly his determination to ask her for no sacrifice. Of Squire they had not spoken. She was not so inhuman as not to feel any touch of gratitude, or any spark of pity for the man who loved her so truly and so unselfishly; she almost wished she could have loved him; but being what she was, these emotions did not make her for a moment hesitate to pursue the course she had mapped out for herself. The love of power, which had once been her strongest motive, was growing weaker day by day; the love of luxury and pleasure growing in intensity; the world declining in its attractions; the flesh and the devil in her increasing in their sway over her wishes and actions. Philip West now attracted her chiefly as a rich man, only in the second place because of the satisfaction it would be to reduce a strong man to her command; Sydney Geraldstein appealed to all that was basest in her. She had not seen West since he had driven her in his car, but she knew that he would hear at once of her return to town, for Maddison had decided to call on Mrs. West, in order to arrange for the resumption of the sittings for the portrait. How soon would West come to see her? Would he come at all?
She had taken the precaution of telegraphing the hour of return, so found tea waiting ready for her, and the rooms looking very cozy. There were a few letters, bills chiefly, which might wait, as she didn’t want to bother Maddison with them just at once, and the dressmaker’s was for a considerable sum. Also a note from Geraldstein asking her to dine with him, curiously enough, this very evening; he would call for her at half-past seven, if he did not hear to the contrary.
Should she accept? He had asked her once before, but she had refused, chiefly because he appeared to be so assured that she would accept. Something in his dogged sensuality appealed to her; of course, acceptance would be taken by him, and must be meant by her, as the first sign of capitulation on her part, though she had no intention whatever of surrendering at once, if at all. The thought of West gave her pause. Geraldstein would leave and forget her very quickly—variety was the essence of his pleasures. West, if she secured him, might be a lifelong friend—but—was not variety growing to be a fascination to her? West was at Brighton—she would run the risk.
Geraldstein was shown into the drawing room, being told that Mrs. Squire would not keep him waiting more than a few minutes. An incredulous smile flitted across his heavy face, as he glanced impatiently at the clock, which pointed exactly to the half hour.
“It’s lucky,” he thought, as he lit a cigarette, “that we want women for pleasure, not for business. Time means nothing to them.”
He picked up the bills which Marian had left lying upon the mantelpiece, and looked at them quizzically. Then he glanced at a photograph of Maddison, and wondered how long the painter chap would be able to stand the racket. After a moment’s hesitation, he folded up the dressmaker’s account, and put it in his pocket. There was nothing else in the room that had any interest for him, save that he glanced at the music on the piano, and was surprised to find that it was not music-hall or musical comedy songs. Most of these women were such coarse brutes; there was something piquant and appetizing about Marian’s daintiness and culture.
She came quickly in, with a pretty plea for forgiveness.
“You’ve only kept me three minutes, but it seemed like an hour,” said Geraldstein restraining himself by an effort from giving way to the strong impulse to take her in his arms. “You’re evidently not an epicure, or you would know what a crime it is to keep dinner even three minutes late. However, with luck and a good horse we shall be in good time. I’ve booked my pet corner table at Goldoni’s, my pet waiter, ordered my pet dinner and my pet wine—all—in honor of you. Have you ever been to Goldoni’s?”
“Never; I’ve only heard wonderful tales of it—fairy tales, I always thought them.”
“Well, come along to fairyland.”