[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

hall--open the door and go in. You'll find Helen and some of her
associates. You'll find the men, young, sleek, soft, well-fed--without
any of the scars or ravages of war. They didn't go to war!... They
_live_ for their bodies. And I hate these slackers. So does Helen's
father. And for three years our house has been a rendezvous for them.
We've prospered, but _that_ has been bitter fruit."
Strong elemental passions Lane had seen and felt in people during the
short twenty-four hours since his return home. All of them had stung
and astounded him, flung into his face the hard brutal facts of the
materialism of the present. Surely it was an abnormal condition. And
yet from the last quarter where he might have expected to find uplift,
and the crystallizing of his attitude toward the world, and the
sharpening of his intelligence--from the hard, grim mother of the girl
who had jilted him, these had come. It was in keeping with all the
other mystery.
"On second thought, I'll go up with you," continued Mrs. Wrapp, as he
moved in the direction she had indicated. "Come."
The wide hall, the winding stairway with its soft carpet, the narrower
hallway above--these made a long journey for Lane. But at the end,
when Mrs. Wrapp stopped with hand on the farthest door, Lane felt knit
like cold steel.
The discordant music and the soft shuffling of feet ceased. Laughter
and murmur of voices began.
"Come, Daren," whispered Mrs. Wrapp, as if thrilled. Certainly her
eyes gleamed. Then quickly she threw the door open wide and called
out:
"Helen, here's Daren Lane home from the war, wearing the _Croix de
Guerre_."
Mrs. Wrapp pushed Lane forward, and stood there a moment in the sudden
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
silence, then stepping back, she went out and closed the door.
Lane saw a large well-lighted room, with colorful bizarre decorations
and a bare shiny floor. The first person his glance encountered was a
young girl, strikingly beautiful, facing him with red lips parted. She
had violet eyes that seemed to have a startled expression as they met
Lane's. Next Lane saw a slim young man standing close to this girl, in
the act of withdrawing his arm from around her waist. Apparently with
his free hand he had either been lowering a smoking cigarette from her
lips or had been raising it there. This hand, too, dropped down. Lane
did not recognize the fellow's smooth, smug face, with its tiny curled
mustache and its heated swollen lines.
"Look who's here," shouted a gay, vibrant voice. "If it isn't old Dare
Lane!"
That voice drew Lane's fixed gaze, and he saw a group in the far
corner of the room. One man was standing, another was sitting beside a
lounge, upon which lay a young woman amid a pile of pillows. She rose
lazily, and as she slid off the lounge Lane saw her skirt come down
and cover her bare knees. Her red hair, bobbed and curly, marked her
for recognition. It was Helen. But Lane doubted if he would have at
once recognized any other feature. The handsome insolence of her face
was belied by a singularly eager and curious expression. Her eyes,
almost green in line, swept Lane up and down, and came back to his
face, while she extended her hands in greeting.
"Helen, how are you?" said Lane, with a cool intent mastery of
himself, bowing over her hands. "Surprised to see me?"
"Well, I'll say so! Daren, you've changed," she replied, and the
latter part of her speech flashed swiftly.
"Rather," he said, laconically. "What would you expect? So have you
changed."
There came a moment's pause. Helen was not embarrassed or agitated,
but something about Lane or the situation apparently made her slow or
stiff.
"Daren, you--of course you remember Hardy Mackay and Dick Swann," she
said.
Lane turned to greet one-time schoolmates and rivals of his. Mackay
was tall, homely, with a face that lacked force, light blue eyes and
thick sandy hair, brushed high. Swann was slight, elegant, faultlessly
groomed and he had a dark, sallow face, heavy lips, heavy eyelids,
eyes rather prominent and of a wine-dark hue. To Lane he did not have
a clean, virile look.
In their greetings Lane sensed some indefinable quality of surprise or
suspense. Swann rather awkwardly put out his hand, but Lane ignored
it. The blood stained Swann's sallow face and he drew himself up.
"And Daren, here are other friends of mine," said Helen, and she
turned him round. "Bessy, this is Daren Lane.... Miss Bessy Bell." As
Lane acknowledged the introduction he felt that he was looking at the
prettiest girl he had ever seen--the girl whose violet eyes had met
his when he entered the room.
Page 33
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Mr. Daren Lane, I'm very happy to meet some one from 'over there,'"
she said, with the ease and self-possession of a woman of the world.
But when she smiled a beautiful, wonderful light seemed to shine from
eyes and face and lips--a smile of youth.
Helen introduced her companion as Roy Vancey. Then she led Lane to the
far corner, to another couple, manifestly disturbed from their rather
close and familiar position in a window seat. These also were
strangers to Lane. They did not get up, and they were not interested. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]