He did not answer. With an expression of the most absurd determination he pressed ever more heavily upon her. He did not even look at her—but rapped out in a sharp voice: "Keep quiet—keep quiet."
"Gar—r! Why are men so strong?" She began to cry. "Go away—I don't want you, you dirty creature. I want to murder you. Oh, my God! if I had a knife."
"Don't be silly—come and be good!" He dragged her towards the bed.
"Do you suppose I'm a light woman?" she snarled, and swooping over she fastened her teeth in his glove.
"Ach! don't do that—you are hurting me!"
She did not let go, but her heart said, "Thank the Lord I thought of this."
"Stop this minute—you vixen—you bitch." He threw her away from him. She saw with joy that his eyes were full of tears. "You've really hurt me," he said in a choking voice.
"Of course I have. I meant to. That's nothing to what I'll do if you touch me again."
The strange man picked up his hat. "No thanks," he said grimly. "But I'll not forget this—I'll go to your landlady."
"Pooh!" She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. "I'll tell her you forced your way in here and tried to assault me. Who will she believe?—with your bitten hand. You go and find your Schafers."
A sensation of glorious, intoxicating happiness flooded Viola. She rolled her eyes at him. "If you don't go away this moment I'll bite you again," she said, and the absurd words started her laughing. Even when the door was closed, hearing him descending the stairs, she laughed, and danced about the room.
What a morning! Oh, chalk it up. That was her first fight, and she'd won—she'd conquered that beast—all by herself. Her hands were still trembling. She pulled up the sleeve of her gown—great red marks on her arms. "My ribs will be blue. I'll be blue all over," she reflected. "If only that beloved Casimir could have seen us." And the feeling of rage and disgust against Casimir had totally disappeared. How could the poor darling help not having any money? It was her fault as much as his, and he, just like her, was apart from the world, fighting it, just as she had done. If only three o'clock would come. She saw herself running towards him and putting her arms round his neck. "My blessed one! Of course we are bound to win. Do you love me still? Oh, I have been horrible lately."
13. A BLAZE.
"Max, you silly devil, you'll break your neck if you go careering down the slide that way. Drop it, and come to the Club House with me and get some coffee."
"I've had enough for to-day. I'm damp all through. There, give us a cigarette, Victor, old man. When are you going home?"
"Not for another hour. It's fine this afternoon, and I'm getting into decent shape. Look out, get off the track; here comes Fraulein Winkel. Damned elegant the way she manages her sleigh!"
"I'm cold all through. That's the worst of this place—the mists—it's a damp cold. Here, Forman, look after this sleigh—and stick it somewhere so that I can get it without looking through a hundred and fifty others to-morrow morning."
They sat down at a small round table near the stove and ordered coffee. Victor sprawled in his chair, patting his little brown dog Bobo and looking, half laughingly, at Max.
"What's the matter, my dear? Isn't the world being nice and pretty?"
"I want my coffee, and I want to put my feet into my pocket—they're like stones... Nothing to eat, thanks—the cake is like underdone india-rubber here."
Fuchs and Wistuba came and sat at their table. Max half turned his back and stretched his feet out to the oven. The three other men all began talking at once—of the weather—of the record slide—of the fine condition of the Wald See for skating.
Suddenly Fuchs looked at Max, raised his eyebrows and nodded across to Victor, who shook his head.
"Baby doesn't feel well," he said, feeding the brown dog with broken lumps of sugar, "and nobody's to disturb him—I'm nurse."
"That's the first time I've ever known him off colour," said Wistuba. "I've always imagined he had the better part of this world that could not be taken away from him. I think he says his prayers to the dear Lord for having spared him being taken home in seven basketsful to-night. It's a fool's game to risk your all that way and leave the nation desolate."
"Dry up," said Max. "You ought to be wheeled about on the snow in a perambulator."
"Oh, no offence, I hope. Don't get nasty. How's your wife, Victor?"
"She's not at all well. She hurt her head coming down the slide with Max on Sunday. I told her to stay at home all day."
"I'm sorry. Are you other fellows going back to the town or stopping on here?"
Fuchs and Victor said they were stopping—Max did not answer, but sat motionless while the men paid for their coffee and moved away. Victor came back a moment and put a hand on his shoulder.
"If you're going right back, my dear, I wish you'd look Elsa up and tell her I won't be in till late. And feed with us to-night at Limpold, will you? And take some hot grog when you get in."
"Thanks, old fellow, I'm all right. Going back now."
He rose, stretched himself, buttoned on his heavy coat and lighted another cigarette.
From the door Victor watched him plunging through the heavy snow—head bent—hands thrust in his pockets—he almost appeared to be running through the heavy snow towards the town.
... Someone came stamping up the stairs—paused at the door of her sitting-room, and knocked.
"Is that you, Victor?" she called.
"No, it is I... can I come in?"
"Of course. Why, what a Santa Claus! Hang your coat on the landing and shake yourself over the banisters. Had a good time?"
The room was full of light and warmth. Elsa, in a white velvet tea-gown, lay curled up on the sofa—a book of fashions on her lap, a box of creams beside her.
The curtains were not yet drawn before the windows and a blue light shone through, and the white boughs of the trees sprayed across.
A woman's room—full of flowers and photographs and silk pillows—the floor smothered in rugs—an immense tiger-skin under the piano—just the head protruding—sleepily savage.
"It was good enough," said Max. "Victor can't be in till late. He told me to come up and tell you."
He started walking up and down—tore off his gloves and flung them on the table.
"Don't do that, Max," said Elsa, "you get on my nerves. And I've got a headache to-day; I'm feverish and quite flushed... Don't I look flushed?"
He paused by the window and glanced at her a moment over his shoulder.
"No," he said; "I didn't notice it."
"Oh, you haven't looked at me properly, and I've got a new tea-gown on, too." She pulled her skirts together and patted a little place on the couch.
"Come along and sit by me and tell me why you're being naughty."
But, standing by the window, he suddenly flung his arm across his eyes.
"Oh," he said, "I can't. I'm done—I'm spent—I'm smashed."
Silence in the room. The fashion-book fell to the floor with a quick rustle of leaves. Elsa sat forward, her hands clasped in her lap; a strange light shone in her eyes, a red colour stained her mouth.
Then she spoke very quietly.
"Come over here and explain yourself. I don't know what on earth you are talking about."
"You do know—you know far better than I. You've simply played with Victor in my presence that I may feel worse. You've tormented me—you've led me on—offering me everything and nothing at all. It's been a spider-and-fly business from first to last—and I've never for one moment been ignorant of that—and I've never for one moment been able to withstand it."
He turned round deliberately.
"Do you suppose that when you asked me to pin your flowers into your evening gown—when you let me come into your bedroom when Victor was out while you did your hair—when you pretended to be a baby and let me feed you with grapes—when you have run to me and searched in all my pockets for a cigarette—knowing perfectly well where they were kept—going through every pocket just the same—I knowing too—I keeping up the farce—do you suppose that now you have finally lighted your bonfire you are going to find it a peaceful and pleasant thing—you are going to prevent the whole house from burning?"