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Kathleen was returning from the South that day, and Kennaston had gone into Lichfield to meet her train. The Florida Express was late by a full hour; so he sat in their motor-car, waiting, turning over some verses in his torpid mind, and just half-noticing persons who were gathering on the station platform to take the noon train going west. He was reflecting how ugly and trivial people's faces appear when a crowd is viewed collectively – and wondering if the Author, looking down into a hot thronged street, was never tempted to obliterate the race as an unsuccessful experiment – when Kennaston recognized Muriel Allardyce.
"I simply will not see her," he decided. He turned his back that way, picked up the morning paper on the seat beside him, and began to read an editorial on immigration. What the deuce was she doing in Lichfield, any way? She lived in St. Louis now. She was probably visiting Avis Blagden. Evidently, she was going west on the noon train. If Kathleen's train arrived before midday he would have to get out of the car to meet her, and all three would come together on the platform. If Muriel spied him there, in the open car, it would be not uncharacteristic of her to join him. And he could not go away, because Kathleen's train was apt to arrive any minute. It was perfectly damnable. Why could the woman not stay in St. Louis, where she belonged, instead of gadding about the country? Thus Kennaston, as he re-read the statistics as to Poles and Magyars.
"I think there's two ladies trying to speak to you, sir," the chauffeur hazarded.
"Eh? – oh, yes!" said Kennaston. He looked, perforce, and saw that across the railway track both Muriel Allardyce and Avis Blagden were regarding him with idiotic grins and wavings. He lifted his hat, smiled, waved his own hand, and retired between the pages of the Lichfield Courier-Herald. Muriel was wearing a light traveling veil, he reflected; he could pretend not to know who she was. With recognition, of course, he would be expected to come over and speak to her. He must remember to ask Avis, the very next time he saw her, who had been that familiar-looking person with her, and to express regret for his short-sightedness…
He decided to step out of the car, by way of the farther door, and buy a package of cigarettes on the other side of the street. He could loaf there and pray that Muriel's train left before Kathleen's arrived…
"I don't believed you recognized us," said Avis Blagden, at his elbow. "Or else you are trying to cut your old playmates." The two women had brazenly pursued him. They were within a yard of him. It was indelicate. It was so perfectly unnecessary. He cordially wished some friendly engine had run them both down when they were crossing the tracks…
"Why, bless my soul!" he was saying, "this is indeed a delightful surprise. I had no idea you were in town, Mrs. Allardyce. I didn't recognize you, with that veil on -"
"There's Peter, at last," said Avis. "I really must speak to him a moment." And she promptly left them. Kennaston reflected that the whole transaction was self-evidently pre-arranged. And Muriel was, as if abstractedly, but deliberately, walking beyond earshot of the chauffeur. And there was nothing for it save to accompany her.
"It's awfully jolly to see you again," he observed, with fervor.
"Is it? Honestly, Felix, it looked almost as if you were trying to avoid me." Kennaston wondered how he could ever have loved a woman of so little penetration.
"No, I didn't recognize you, with that veil on," he repeated. "And I had no idea you were in Lichfield. I do hope you are going to pay us all a nice long visit -"
"But, no, I am leaving on this train -"
"Oh, I say, but that's too bad! And I never knew you were here!" he lamented.
"I only stopped overnight with Avis. I am on my way home -"
"To Leonard?" And Kennaston smiled. "How do you get on with him nowadays?"
"We are – contented, I suppose. He has his business – and politics. He is doing perfectly splendidly now, you know. And I have my memories." Her voice changed. "I have my memories, Felix! Nothing – nothing can take that from me!"
"Good God, Muriel, there are a dozen people watching us -"
"What does that matter!"
"Well, it matters a lot to me. I live here, you know."
She was silent for a moment. "You look your latest rôle in life so well, too, Felix. You are the respectable married gentleman to the last detail. Why, you are an old man now, Felix," she said wistfully. "Your hair is gray about the ears, and you are fat, and there are wrinkles under your eyes – But are you happy, dear?" she asked, with the grave tender speech that he remembered. And momentarily the man forgot the people about them, and the fact that his wife's train was due any minute.
"Happier than I deserve to be, Muriel." His voice had quavered – not ineffectively, it appeared to him.
"That's true, at least," the woman said, as in reflection. "You treated me rather abominably, you know – like an old shoe."
"I am not altogether sorry you take that view of it. For I wouldn't want you to regret – anything – not even that which, to me at least, is very sacred. But there was really nothing else to do save just to let things end. It was as hard," he said, with a continuous flight of imagination, "it was as hard on me as you."
"Sometimes I think it was simply because you were afraid of Leonard. I put that out of my mind, though, always. You see, I like to keep my memories. I have nothing else now, Felix -" She opened the small leather bag she carried, took out a handkerchief, and brushed her lips. "I am a fool, of course. Oh, it is funny to see your ugly little snub nose again! And I couldn't help wanting to speak to you, once more -"
"It has been delightful. And some day I certainly do hope – But there's your train, I think. The gates are going down."
"And here is Avis coming. So good-by, Felix. It is really forever this time, I think -"
It seemed to him that she held in her left hand the sigil of Scoteia… He stared at the gleaming thing, then raised his eyes to hers. She was smiling. Her eyes were the eyes of Ettarre. All the beauty of the world seemed gathered in this woman's face…
"Don't let it be forever! Come with me, Felix! There is only you – even now, there is only you. It is not yet too late -" Astounding as were the words, they came quite clearly, in a pleading frightened whisper.
The man was young for just that one wonderful moment of inexplicable yearning and self-loathing. Then, "I – I am afraid my wife would hardly like it," he said, equably. "So good-by, Muriel. It has been very delightful to see you again."
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"I was mistaken, though, of course. It was the top of a vanity-box, or of a toilet water flask, or of something else, that she took out of the bag, when she was looking for her handkerchief. It was just a silly coincidence. I was mistaken, of course… And here is Kathleen's train. Thank goodness, it was late enough…"
Thus Kennaston, as he went to receive his wife's cool kiss. And – having carefully mentioned as a matter of no earthly importance that he had just seen Muriel Allardyce, and that she had gone off terribly in looks, and that none of them seem to hold their own like you, dear – he disbarred from mind that awkward moment's delusion, and tried not to think of it any more.
II
Cross-Purposes in Spacious Times
SO Kennaston seemed to have got only disappointment and vexation and gainless vague regret from his love-affairs in the flesh; and all fleshly passion seemed to flicker out inevitably, however splendid the brief blaze. For you loved and lost; or else you loved and won: there was quick ending either way. And afterward unaccountable women haunted you, and worried you into unreasonable contrition, in defiance of common-sense…