Carnival Part 39

At last, on the delicate tinkle of a dying mazurka, Cunningham stopped quite suddenly, and silence succeeded for a while. Outside in the street was the sound of people walking with Sabbath footsteps. Out over the river there was a hail from some distant loud-voiced waterman. The church bell resumed its hurried monotone. Castleton got up and lit the gas. The windows now looked gray and very dreary; it was pleasant to veil them with crimson birds and vine-leaves. The fire was roused to a roaring blaze; the girls began to arrange their hair; it was time to think of supper. Such was Jenny's birthday--intolerably fugitive.

Chapter XIX: _The Gift of Opals_

Jenny did not see Maurice after the party until the following night, when he waited in the court to take her out.

"Come quick," he said. "Quick. I've got something to show you."

"Well, don't run," she commanded, moderating the pace by tugging at his coat. "You're like a young race-horse."

"First of all," asked Maurice eagerly, "do you like opals?"

"They're all right."

"Only all right?"

"Well, I think they're a bit like soapsuds."

"I'm sorry," said Maurice, "I've bought you opals for a birthday present."

"I do like them," she explained, "only they're unlucky."

"Not if you're an October girl. They're very lucky then."

They were walking through jostling crowds down Coventry Street towards the Cafe de l'Afrique where Castleton would meet them to discuss a project of gayety. Jenny's soft hand on his arm was not successful in banishing the aggrieved notes from Maurice's petulant defense of opals.

"Oh, you miserable old thing!" she said. "Don't look so cross."

"It's a little disappointing to choose a present and then be told by the person it's intended for that she dislikes it."

"Oh, don't be silly. I never said I didn't like it. How could I? I haven't seen it yet."

"It's hardly worth while showing it to you. You won't like it. I'd throw it in the gutter, if it wasn't for this beastly crowd of fools that will b.u.mp into us all the time."

"You are stupid. Give it to me. Please, Maurice."

"No, I'll get you something else," he retorted, determined to be injured. "I'm sorry I can't afford diamonds. I took a good deal of trouble to find you something old and charming. I ransacked every curiosity shop in London. That's why I couldn't meet you till to-night.

d.a.m.ned lot of use it's been. I'd much better have bought you a turquoise beetle with pink topaz eyes or a lizard in garnets or a dragon-fly that gave you quite a turn, it was so like a real one, or a----"

"Oh, shut up," said Jenny, withdrawing her arm.

"It's so frightfully disheartening."

"But what are you making yourself miserable over? I haven't said I don't like your present. I haven't seen it."

"No, and you never will. Rotten thing!"

"You are unkind."

"So are you."

"Oh, good job."

"You're absolutely heartless. I don't believe you care a bit about me. I wish to G.o.d I'd never met you. I can't think about anything but you. I can't work. What's the good of being in love? It's a fool's game. It's unsettling. It's hopeless. I think I won't see you any more after to-night. I can't stand it."

Jenny had listened to his tirade without interruption; but now as they were pa.s.sing the Empire, she stopped suddenly, and said in a voice cold and remote:

"Good night. I'm off."

"But we're going to meet Castleton."

"You may be. I'm not."

"What excuse shall I make to him?"

"I don't care what you tell him. He's nothing to me. Nor you either."

"You don't mean that?" he gasped.

"Don't I?"

"But Jenny! Oh, I say, do come into the Afrique. We can't argue here.

People will begin to stare."

"People! I thought you didn't mind about people?"

"Look here, I'm sorry. I am really. Do stay."

"No, I don't want to."

Jenny's lips were set; her eyes dull with anger.

"I know I'm a bad-tempered a.s.s," Maurice admitted. "But do stay. I meant it to be such a jolly evening. Only I was hurt about the opals. Do stay, Jenny. I really am frightfully sorry. Won't you have the brooch? I'm absolutely to blame. I deserve anything you say or do. Only won't you stay? Just this once. Do."

Jenny was not proof against such pleading. There was in Maurice's effect upon her character something so indescribably disarming that, although in this case she felt in the right, she, it seemed, must always give way; and for her to give way, right or wrong, was out of order.

"Soppy me again," was all she said.

"No, darling you," Maurice whispered. "Such a darling, too. I hope Castleton hasn't arrived yet. I want to tell you all over again how frightfully sorry I am."

But when they had walked past the Buddha-like manager who, ma.s.sive and enigmatical, broods over the entrance to the cafe, they could see Castleton in the corner. It was a pity; for the constraint of a lovers'

quarrel, not absolutely adjusted, hung over them still in the presence of a third person before whom they had to simulate ease. Maurice, indeed, was so boisterously cordial that Jenny resented his dramatic ability, and, being incapable of simulation herself, showed plainly all was not perfectly smooth.

"What is the matter with our Jenny to-night?" Castleton inquired.

"Nothing," she answered moodily.