The Pagan Madonna - Page 27/141

Cleigh bowed politely and moved away. Behind that calm, impenetrable mask,

however, was turmoil, kaleidoscopic, whirling too quickly for the brain to

grasp or hold definite shapes. The boy here! And the girl with those beads

round her throat! For the subsidence of this turmoil it was needful to

have space; so Cleigh strode out of the lobby into the fading day, made

his way across the bridge, and sought the Bund. He forgot all about his

appointment with Cunningham.

He lit a cigar and walked on and on, oblivious of the cries of the

'ricksha boys, importunate beggars, the human currents that broke and

flowed each side of him. The boy here in Shanghai! And that girl with

those beads round her throat! It was as though his head had become a

tom-tom in the hands of fate. The drumming made it impossible to think

clearly. It was the springing up of the electric lights that brought him

back to actualities. He looked at his watch.

He had been tramping up and down the Bund for two solid hours.

And now came, clearly defined, the idea for which he had been searching.

He indulged in a series of rumbling chuckles. You will have heard such a

sound in the forest when a stream suddenly takes on a merry mood--broken

water.

To return to Jane, whom Cleigh had left in a state of growing hypnosis.

She was able to act and think intelligently, but the spell lay like a fog

upon her will, enervating it. She grasped the situation clearly enough; it

was tremendous. She had heard of Anthony Cleigh. Who in America had not?

Father and son, and they had passed each other without a nod! Had she not

been a witness to the episode, she would not have believed such a

performance possible.

Through the fog burst a clear point of light. This was not the first time

she had encountered Anthony Cleigh. Where had she seen him before, and

under what circumstance? Later, when she was alone, she would dig into her

storehouse of recollection. Certainly she must bring back that episode.

One thing, she had not known him as Anthony Cleigh.

Father and son, and they had not spoken! It was this that beat

persistently upon her mind. What dramatic event had created such a

condition? After seven years! These two, strong mentally and physically,

in a private war! She understood now how it was that Dennison had been

able to tell her about Monte Carlo, the South Sea Islands, Africa, Asia;

he had been his father's companion on the yacht.

Mechanically she approached the lift. In her room all her actions were

more or less mechanical. From the back of her mind somewhere came the

order to her hands. She took down the evening gown. This time the subtle

odour of lavender left her untouched. To be beautiful, to wish that she

were beautiful! Why? Her hair was lovely; her neck and arms were lovely;

but her nose wasn't right, her mouth was too large, and her eyes missed

being either blue or hazel. Why did she wish to be beautiful?