Once afterward Gray's glance fell on Amy and Joseph across the room.They were looking at him and laughing at his expense and the sight burnt his eyes as though hot needles had been run into them.They beckoned gaily, but he gave no sign; and in a moment they were lost behind the shifting figures of the company.While he was dancing, however, Joseph came up.
"As soon as you get away, Amy wants to see you."Half and hour later he came a second time and drew Gray aside from a group of gentlemen, speaking more seriously: "Amy wants to explain how all this happened.Come at once.""There is nothing to explain," said John, with indifference.
Joseph answered reproachfully:
"This is foolish, John! When you know what has passed, you will not censure her.And I could not have done otherwise." Despite his wish to be serious, he could not help laughing for he was very happy himself.
But to John Gray these reasonable words went for the very thing that they did not mean.His mind had been forced to a false point of view; and from a false point of view the truth itself always looks false.Moreover it was intolerable that Joseph should be defending to him the very woman whom a few hours before he had hoped to marry.
"There is no explanation needed from her," he replied, with the same indifference."I think I understand.What I do not understand I should rather take for granted.But you, Joseph, you owe me an explanation.This is not the place to give it." His face twitched, and he knotted the fingers of his large hands together like bands of iron."But by God I'll have it;and if it is not a good one, you shall answer." His oath sounded like an invocation to the Divine justice--not profanity.
Joseph fixed his quiet fearless eyes on Gray's."I'll answer for myself--and for her"--he replied and turned away.
Still later Gray met her while dancing--the faint rose of her cheeks a shade deeper, the dazzling whiteness of her skin more pearl-like with warmth, her gaiety and happiness still mounting, her eyes still wandering among the men, culling their admiration.
"You haven't asked me to dance to-night.You haven't even let me tell you why I had to come with Joseph, when I wanted to come with you." She gave a little pout of annoyance and let her eyes rest on his with the old fondness.
"Don't you want to know why I broke my engagement with you?" And she danced on, smiling back at him provokingly.
He did not show that he heard; and although they did not meet again, he was made aware that a change had at last come over her.She was angry now.He could hear her laughter oftener--laughter that was meant for his ear and she was dancing oftener with Joseph.He looked at her repeatedly, but she avoided his eyes.
"I am playing a poor part by staying here!" he said with shame, and left the house.
After wandering aimlessly about the town for some two hours, he went resolvedly back again and stood out in the darkness, looking in at her through the windows.There she was, unwearied, happy, not feigning; and no more affected by what had taken place between them than a candle is affected by a scorched insect.So it seemed to him.
This was the first time he had ever seen her at a ball.He had never realized what powers she possessed in a field like this: what play, what resources, what changes, what stratagems, what victories.He mournfully missed for the first time certain things in himself that should have corresponded with all those light and graceful things in her.
Perhaps what hurt him most were her eyes, always abroad searching for admiration, forever filling the forever emptied honeycomb of self-love.
With him love was a sacred, a grim, an inviolate selection.He would no more have wished the woman he had chosen to seek indiscriminate admiration with her eyes than with her lips or her waist.It implied the same fatal flaw in her refinement, her modesty, her faithfulness, her high breeding.
A light wind stirred the leaves of the trees overhead.A few drops of rain fell on his hat.He drew his hand heavily across his eyes and turned away.
Reaching his room, he dropped down into a chair before his open window and sat gazing absently into the black east.
Within he faced a yet blacker void--the ruined hopes on which the sun would never rise again.
It was the end of everything between him and Amy: that was his one thought.
It did not occur to him even to reflect whether he had been right or wrong, rude or gentle: it was the end: nothing else appeared worth considering.
Life to him meant a ****** straightforward game played with a few well-known principles.It must be as open as a chess-board: each player should see every move of the other: and all who chose could look on.
He was still very young.
