The Foolish Lovers Part 13

Perhaps she did not love him as he loved her. Perhaps she did not love him at all. After all, he had met her for the first time about three hours earlier in the evening. Only three hours ago! It was hard to believe that he had not loved her for centuries, had not often felt her heart beating beneath the pressure of his hand, had not frequently put his lips to her lips and been enchanted by her kisses. Why, he had only kissed her once. Only once! Once only!... He looked at her as she sat by his side, gazing intently at the stage. He could see a protuberance in her cheek, made by a piece of chocolate, and as he looked at her, it seemed to him to be a terrible thing that this girl did not love him.

His love had gone out to her, quickly, insurgently and fully, and perhaps she thought no more of him than she might think of any chance friend who offered to take her to see a play. She might have spent many evenings in this very theatre with other men. Had she not told him that afternoon that she hated to be alone! He had put his arm about her waist in a public place and had been humiliated for doing so, but nothing of this had meant much to Maggie. She was quite willing to let him embrace her ... perhaps she thought that she ought to allow him to hug her as a return for the treat at the theatre ... or perhaps she liked to feel a man's arm about her waist and did not much care who the man might be. Some girls were like that. Willie Logan had told him that Carrie Furlong was the girl of any fellow who liked to walk up the road with her. She did not care with whom she went; all that she cared about was that she should have some boy in her company. She would kiss anybody.

Was Maggie Carmichael like that? Would she kiss this one or that one, just as the mood took her?... Oh, no, she could not be like that. It was impossible for him to fall in love with a girl who distributed kisses as carelessly and impa.s.sionately as a boy distributes handbills.

He felt certain that he could not fall in love with a girl of that sort, that some instinct in him would prevent him from going so. Other fellows might make a mistake of that kind ... Willie Logan, for example ... but a MacDermott could not make one. Maggie must be in love with him ... she must have fallen in love with him as suddenly as he had fallen in love with her ... otherwise she could not have consented so readily to accompany him to the theatre. When he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, she had yielded to him so naturally, as if she had been in his arms many times before!... Perhaps, though, the ease with which she had yielded to him denoted that she had had much experience!... Oh, no, no! No, no! She was his girl, not anybody else's girl. He could not have her for a sweetheart, if she shared her love with other men. He must have her entirely to himself!...

Oh, what a torturing, doubt-raising, perplexing thing this Love was! A few hours ago he had known nothing whatever of it ... had merely imagined cold, austere, wrong things about it ... and now it had hold of him and was hurting him. Every particle of his mind was concentrated on this girl by his side ... a stranger to him. He knew nothing of her except her name and that she was employed as a waitress in a restaurant. She was a stranger to him ... and yet a fierce, unquenchable love for her was raging in his heart. Each moment, the flames of his pa.s.sion increased in strength. When he looked away from her, he could see her in his mind's eye. Each of the players on the stage looked like Maggie.... And there she was, all unaware of this strong emotion in him, placidly sitting in her seat, gazing at the actors! Do women feel love as strongly as men do? he asked himself as he looked at her, and as he did so she turned, her head to him, conscious perhaps of his stare, and when her eyes met his in the glowing dusk of the theatre, she smiled, and, seeing her smile, he forgot his doubt and remembered only the great joy of loving her.

VIII

He insisted on taking her to her home, although she stoutly declared that this was unnecessary. She lived at Stranmillis, she said, and the journey there and back would make him miss his train; but he swore that he had plenty of time, and would not listen to her dissuasions.

When they reached the terminus at the Botanic Gardens, she tried to insist that he should return to town in the tram by which they had come out, but he said that he must walk with her for a while. She would not let him accompany her to the door of her home ... he must leave her at a good distance from it ... and to this he agreed, for he knew what the etiquette of these matters is. He put his arm in hers, again drawing her close to him, and, listening to her laughter, he walked in gladness by her side. It was she who stopped. "I'll say 'Good-night' to you here," she said.

"Not yet," he replied.

"You'll miss your train," she warned him.

He did not heed her warning, but drew her into the shadow and held her tightly to him.

"Don't!" she stammered, but could not speak any more because of the strength of his kisses.

Very long he held her thus, his arms tightly round her and her lips closebound to his, and then with a great sigh of pleasure, he released her.

"You're a desperate fellow," she said, half scared, and she laughed a little.

She glanced about her for a moment. "I must run now," she said, holding out her hand.

"Not yet," he said again.

"Oh, but I must. I must!" she insisted. "Good-night!"

He took her hand. "Good-night," he replied, but did not let her hand go.

She laughed nervously. "What's wrong with you?" she said.

"I ... I'm in love with you, Maggie!" he murmured, almost inarticulately.

Her laughter lost its nervousness. "You're a boy in a hurry and a half!" she said.

"I know. Kiss me, Maggie!"

She held up her face to him. "There, then!" she said.

He kissed her again, and then again, and yet again.

"You're hurting me," she exclaimed ruefully.

"It's because I love you so much, Maggie!" he said.

"Well, let me go now!..." She stood away from him. "You have me all crumpled up," she said. "I'll be a terrible sight when I get in!

Anybody'd think you'd never kissed a girl before in your life!"

"I haven't," he replied.

"You what?"

"I haven't. I've never kissed any other girl but you!"

"You don't expect me to believe a yarn like that?" she said.

"It's the G.o.d's truth," he answered.

"Well, n.o.body'd think it from the way you behave!"

He regarded her in silence for a few moments. Then he said, "Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

"I'm twenty-two." she replied.

He had not thought of her age, but if he had done so, he would not have imagined that she was more than nineteen.

"What's that got to do with it?" he asked.

"A lot," she replied. "You don't think a girl as nice-looking as me has reached my age without having kissed a fellow, do you?"

"Then you have kissed someone else?"

"I've kissed dozens," she said. "Good-night, John!"

She turned and ran swiftly from him, laughing lightly as she ran, and for a second or two, he stood blankly looking after her. Then he called to her, "Wait, Maggie, wait a minute!" and ran after her.

She stopped when she heard him calling, and waited for him to come up to her.

"When'll I see you again?" he said.

"Oh, dear knows!" she replied.

"Will you come to the theatre with me next Sat.u.r.day?"

"I might!"

"Will you get the day off, and we'll go in the afternoon and evening, too!"

"I mightn't be let," she said. "Mrs. Bothwell mightn't agree to it!"

"Ask her anyway!..."

"I will, then. Good-night, John!"