the price she paid-第39章
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of himhunting and exploring expeditions into tropics and into frozen regions； mountain climbs； wild sea voyages in small boats； all with no sign of being able to stand anything； yet also with no sign of being any more disturbed than now in this seaside laziness。 Stanley had showed them a picture of him taken twenty years and more ago when he was in college； he had looked almost the same thenperhaps a little older。
‘‘Well； I am waiting；'' persisted she。
She thought he was about to look at hera thing he had never done； to her knowledge； since they had known each other。 She nerved herself to receive the shock； with a certain flutter of expectancy； of excitement even。 But instead of looking； he settled himself in a slightly different position and fixed his gaze upon another point in the horizon。 She noted that he had splendid handsideal hands for a man； with the same suggestion of intense vitality and aliveness that flashed from his eyes。 She had not noted this before。 Next she saw that he had good feet； and that his boots were his only article of apparel that fitted him； or rather； that looked as if made for him。
She tossed her cigarette over the rail to the sand。 He startled her by speaking； in his unemotional way。 He said：
‘‘Now； I like you better。''
‘‘I don't understand；'' said she。
No answer from him。 The cigarette depending listlessly from his lips seemedas usualuncertain whether it would stay or fall。 She watched this uncertainty with a curious； nervous interest。 She was always thinking that cigarette would fall； but it never did。 Said she：
‘‘Why did you say you liked me less？''
‘‘Better；'' corrected he。
‘‘We used to have a pump in our back yard at home；'' laughed she。 ‘‘One toiled away at the handle； but nothing ever came。 And it was a promising…looking pump； too。''
He smileda slow； reluctant smile； but undeniably attractive。 Said he：
‘‘Because you threw away your cigarette。''
‘‘You object to women smoking？''
‘‘No；'' said he。 His tone made her feel how absurd it was to suspect him of such provincialism。
‘‘You object to MY smoking？'' suggested she； laughing； ‘‘Pump！ Pump！''
‘‘No；'' said he。
‘‘Then your remark meant nothing at all？''
He was silent。
‘‘You are rude；'' said she coldly； rising to go into the house。
He said something； what she did not hear； in her agitation。 She paused and inquired：
‘‘What did you say？''
‘‘I said； I am not rude but kind；'' replied he。
‘‘That is detestable！'' cried she。 ‘‘I have not liked you； but I have been polite to you because of Stanley and Mrs。 Brindley。 Why should you be insulting to me？''
‘‘What have I done？'' inquired he； unmoved。 He had risen as she rose； but instead of facing her he was leaning against the post of the veranda； bent upon his seaward vigil。
‘‘You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking me were a reflection on me。''
‘‘You insisted；'' said he。
‘‘You mean that they are？'' demanded she furiously。 She was amazed at her wild； unaccountable rage。
He slowly turned his head and looked at hera glance without any emotion whatever； simply a look that； like the beam of a powerful searchlight； seemed to thrust through fog and darkness and to light up everything in its path。 Said he：
‘‘Do you wish me to tell you why I don't like you？''
‘‘No！'' she cried hysterically。 ‘‘Never mindI don't know what I'm saying。'' And she went hastily into the house。 A moment later； in her own room upstairs； she was wondering at herself。 Why had she become confused？ What did he mean？ What had she seenor half seenin the darkness and fog within herself when he looked at her？ In a passion she cried：
‘‘If he would only stay away！''
VI
BUT he did not stay away。 He owned and lived in a small house up on the Rumson Road。 While the house was little more than a bungalow and had a simplicity that completely hid its rare good taste from the average observer； its grounds were the most spacious in that neighborhood of costly； showy houses set in grounds not much more extensive than a city building lot。 The grounds had been cleared and drained to drive out and to keep out the obnoxious insect life； but had been left a forest； concealing the house from the roads。 Stanley Baird was now stopping with Keith； and brought him along to the cottage by the sea every day。
The parties narrowed to the same four persons。 Mrs。 Brindley seemed never to tire of talking to Keith or to tire of talking about him when the two men had left； late each night。 As for Stanley； he referred everything to Keiththe weather prospects； where they should go for the day； what should be eaten and drunk； any point about politics or fashion； life or literature or what not； that happened to be discussed。 And he looked upon Donald's monosyllabic reply to his inquiry as a final judgment； ending all possibility of argument。 Mildred held out long。 Then； in spite of herself； she began to yield； ceased to dislike him； found a kind of pleasureor； perhaps； fascinated interestin the nervousness his silent and indifferent presence caused her。 She liked to watch that immobile； perfect profile； neither young nor old； indeed not suggesting age in any degree； but only experience and knowledgeand an infinite capacity for emotion； for passion even。 The dead…white color declared it had already been lived； the brilliant； usually averted or veiled eyes asserted present vitality； pulsing under a calm surface。
One day when Stanley； in the manner of one who wishes a thing settled and settled right； said he would ask Donald Keith about it； Mildred； a little piqued； a little amused； retorted：
‘‘And what will he answer？ Why； simply yes or no。''
‘‘That's all；'' assented Stanley。 ‘‘And that's quite enough； isn't it？''
‘‘But how do you know he's as wise as he pretends？''
‘‘He doesn't pretend to be anything or to know anything。 That's precisely it。''
Mildred suddenly began to like Keith。 She had never thought of this before。 Yes； it was true； he did not pretend。 Not in the least； not about anything。 When you saw him； you saw at once the worst there was to see。 It was afterward that you discovered he was not slovenly； but clean and neat； not badly but well dressed； not homely but handsome； not sickly but soundly well； not physically weak but strong； not dull but vividly alive； not a tiresome void but an unfathomable mystery。
‘‘What does he do？'' she asked Mrs。 Brindley。
Cyrilla's usually positive gray eyes looked vague。 She smiled。 ‘‘I never asked；'' said she。 ‘‘I've known him nearly three years； and it never occurred to me to ask； or to wonder。 Isn't that strange？ Usually about the first inquiry we make is what a man does。''
‘‘I'll ask Stanley；'' said Mildred。 And she did about an hour later； when they were in the surf together； with the other two out of earshot。 Said Stanley：
‘‘He's a lawyer； of course。 Also； he's written a novel or two and a book of poems。 I've never read them。 Somehow； I never get around to reading。''
‘‘Oh； he's a lawyer？ That's the way he makes his living。''
‘‘A queer kind of lawyer。 He never goes to court； and his clients are almost all other lawyers。 They go to him to get him to tell them what to do； and what not to do。 He's got a big reputation among lawyers； Fred Norman tells me； but makes comparatively little； as he either can't or won't charge what he ought。 I told him what Norman said； and he only smiled in that queer way he has。 I said： ‘You make twenty or thirty thousand a year。 You ought to make ten times that。' ''
‘‘And what did he answer？'' asked Mildred。 ‘‘Nothing？''
‘‘He said： ‘I make all I want。 If I took in more； I'd be bothered getting rid of it or investing it。 I can always make all I'll wantunless I go crazy。 And what could a crazy man do with money？ It doesn't cost anything to live in a lunatic asylum。' ''
Several items of interest to add to those she had collected。 He could talk brilliantly； but he preferred silence。 He could make himself attractive to women and to men； but he preferred to be detached。 He could be a great lawyer； but he preferred the quiet of obscurity。 He could be a rich man； but he preferred to be comparativel
