The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 148/161

It was still quite light out of doors, but inside with the curtains

drawn and the smouldering fire sending out a dim, uncertain glow, the

room was full of deep shadows.

Brantain sat in one of these shadows; it had overtaken him and he did

not mind. The obscurity lent him courage to keep his eyes fastened as

ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat in the firelight.

She was very handsome, with a certain fine, rich coloring that belongs

to the healthy brune type. She was quite composed, as she idly

stroked the satiny coat of the cat that lay curled in her lap, and she

occasionally sent a slow glance into the shadow where her companion sat.

They were talking low, of indifferent things which plainly were not

the things that occupied their thoughts. She knew that he loved her--a

frank, blustering fellow without guile enough to conceal his feelings,

and no desire to do so. For two weeks past he had sought her society

eagerly and persistently. She was confidently waiting for him to declare

himself and she meant to accept him. The rather insignificant and

unattractive Brantain was enormously rich; and she liked and required

the entourage which wealth could give her.

During one of the pauses between their talk of the last tea and the next

reception the door opened and a young man entered whom Brantain knew

quite well. The girl turned her face toward him. A stride or two brought

him to her side, and bending over her chair--before she could suspect

his intention, for she did not realize that he had not seen her

visitor--he pressed an ardent, lingering kiss upon her lips.

Brantain slowly arose; so did the girl arise, but quickly, and the

newcomer stood between them, a little amusement and some defiance

struggling with the confusion in his face.

"I believe," stammered Brantain, "I see that I have stayed too long.

I--I had no idea--that is, I must wish you good-by." He was clutching

his hat with both hands, and probably did not perceive that she was

extending her hand to him, her presence of mind had not completely

deserted her; but she could not have trusted herself to speak.

"Hang me if I saw him sitting there, Nattie! I know it's deuced awkward

for you. But I hope you'll forgive me this once--this very first break.

Why, what's the matter?"

"Don't touch me; don't come near me," she returned angrily. "What do you

mean by entering the house without ringing?"

"I came in with your brother, as I often do," he answered coldly, in

self-justification. "We came in the side way. He went upstairs and I

came in here hoping to find you. The explanation is simple enough and

ought to satisfy you that the misadventure was unavoidable. But do say

that you forgive me, Nathalie," he entreated, softening.