Champagne in the is a thing to see. So is water, the after. That is the fault with frolic; there is always an rebound. The most love into tolerance. A is only a who has the inevitable; he has his at the start. Mental have their as the juice of the grape.
Hawksley and Kitty, back, to taste lees. They to see things, too—menace in every loiterer, threat in every alley. They had had a lark; would be the with an bill. They the dangers, them; wisely. There would be no let-down in their until they haven. But this of mind they with masks, banter, of laughter, and of wit.
They were frightened, but with fear. Kitty's was not for herself but for Johnny Two-Hawks. If anything the would be hers. With that he wasn't for what he did; she was. A negative on her part and he would have left the apartment. And his was for this girl. He had her into danger. Who knew, than he, the of the men who to kill him?
Moreover, his was him. There was an in his legs, purely physical. He had overdone, and if need rose he would not be able to protect her. Damnable fool! But she had known. That was the odd phase of it. She hadn't come blindly. What mood had her to the along with the lark? Somehow, she was always just his reach, this girl. He would that out of the pistol, the egg in the pan.
The was only three away when Kitty to her mask. “I'd give a good to see a policeman. They are around when you want them. Johnny Two-Hawks, I'm a little fool! You wouldn't have left the but for me. Will you me?”
“It is I who should ask forgiveness. I say, how much is it?”
“Only about two blocks; but they may be long ones. Let's step into this for a moment. I see a taxicab. It looks to be opposite the building. Don't like it. Suppose we watch it for a minutes?”
Hawksley was for the respite; and together they at the red of the light. But no man approached the or left it.
“I I've upon a plan,” said Kitty. “Certainly we have not been followed. In that event they would have had a dozen chances. If someone saw us together, naturally they will us to return together. We'll walk to the of our block, then turn east; but I shall just out of while you will go the block. Fifteen minutes should you to the south corner. I'll be on watch for you. The moment you turn I'll walk toward you. It will give us a of a in case that taxi is a menace. If any one appears, for it. Where's the you had?”
“What a I am! I now. I left the against the of the house. Blockhead! With a stick, now!... I'm hopeless!”
“Never mind. Let's start. That taxi may be perfectly honest. It's our that are the with goblins. What us is that we have our word to the man in all this world.”
Hawksley if he walk the without down. He saw that he was a physical collapse, by the knowledge that the safety of the girl upon himself. What he had at the as had been nothing more than and nerve energy. There was now nothing but the latter, and only at that. Oh, he would manage somehow; he well had to; and there was a of in with a bobby. But run? Honestly, now, how the was a to on a pair of spools?
Arriving at the spot they separated. He his hand and off. If he it would be out of sight, where the girl not see him. Clever chap—what? Damned rotter! For himself he did not care. He was of this game of and seek. But to have the girl into it! When he the of his he paused and against the wall, his shut. When he opened them the and the were normal again.
As soon as he a new plan came to Kitty. She put it into at once, on the that was an enemy machine. She left her and walked the street, her for the least sign. If she make the entrance they the trick, she obtain help Johnny Two-Hawks the south turn. She her objective, pushed through the doors, and turned. Dimly she see the taxi driver; but he appeared to be on the seat.
As a of fact, one of the three men in the taxi Kitty, but too late to her. Her had him temporarily. And while he and his were debating, Kitty had time to Cutty's man from Elevator Four.
“Step into the car!” he ordered, after she had him a of her suspicions. He off the lights, out, and the gates with a bang. “And to the corner! I'll to the other fool.”
He into the street, his ready, the speculatively, suddenly, and ran south at a dog-trot. He the south corner, but he did not see Hawksley anywhere. The dog-trot a run. As he the of the he almost into Hawksley, who had a in tow.
“Officer,” said the man with the boy's face, “this is Federal business. Aliens. Come along. There may be trouble. If there should be any don't with the atmosphere. Pick out a target.”
“Anarchists?”
“About the size of it.”
“Miss Conover?” asked Hawksley.
“Safe. No thanks to you, though. I'd like to your off, if you want to know!”
“Do it! Damned little use to me,” Hawksley, sagging.
“Here, what's the with you?” the policeman, his arm Hawksley.
“They nearly killed him a days gone. A on the bean; but he wasn't satisfied. Help him along. I'll be back.”
But the was gone.
Before Cutty's opened the gate to the he spoke to Hawksley. “The is doing he can to put you through, sir. Miss Conover's saved you. For if you hadn't they'd have you. I've been like a chicken with its cut off. I that door on the seventeenth floor. I tell you honestly, you've been playing with death. It wasn't to Miss Conover.”
“It was my fault,” Kitty.
“Mine,” Hawksley.
“Well, they know where you now, for a fact. You've the beans. I'm sorry I my temper. The away with you both!” The boy laughed. “You're game, anyhow. But it all, if anything had to you the would have me. He's the old God put the of life into. He's always doing something for somebody. He'd give you the if you had the to ask for it. Play the game fifty-fifty with him and you'll land on feet. And you, Miss Conover, must not come here again.”
“I promise.”
“I'll tell you a little secret. It was the who sent you out of town. He was you'd do something like this. When you are to go home you'll Tony Bernini downstairs. Sore as a crab, too, I'll bet.”
“I'll be to go home with him,” said Kitty, in spirit.
“That's all for to-night.”
Kitty and Hawksley out into the corridor, the problem they had to shake off in their thoughts, added too, if anything.
“How do you feel?”
“Top-hole,” Hawksley. “My word, though, I a going that block. I almost the bobby. I say, he I'd been a few. But it was a lark!”
“Dinner is served,” Kuroki at their elbows. His was bland.
“Dinner!” Hawksley, brightening. “What the American soldier say?”
“Eats!” answered Kitty.
All in the that followed. They approached dinner with something of the that had Hawksley to and Kitty to pass the in of the Metropolitan Opera House. Hawksley's powers promised well for his future. By the time coffee was his had and his had their normal functions of support.
“I was so bored!”
“And now?” asked Kitty, recklessly.
“Fancy me that!”
“Do you that all this is improper?”
“Oh, I say, now! Where's the harm? If there was a woman of taking of herself—”
“That isn't it. It's just being here alone with you.”
“But you are not alone with me!”
“Kuroki?” Kitty shrugged.
“No. At my of the table is Stefani Gregor; at yours the man who has me.”
“Thank you for that. I don't know of anything you say. But the world would see neither of our friends. I did not come here to see you.”
“No need of telling me that.”
“I had a problem—a very difficult one—to solve; and I that I might solve it if I came to these rooms. I had you.”
Instantly, upon this explanation, he that she should to him after this night. His was not touched; it was something more elusive. It was a of that to hurt. Somehow he the which the of this girl. He would presently a in the with that old Amati.
Blows on the have comparisons. That which kills one man only another. One man his identity; another with all his and but inconvenience. In Hawksley's case the had restricted some of thought, and that which would have now out obliquely, perversely. It might be that the natural of his blood, by the of Stefani Gregor and by the blow, his in relation to Kitty. The of women, the old of sex—the of his rich and forbears, the that had Boris Karlov a and enemy—became in his brain.
She had him! Very well. He would the of her, play with it, it to the and it down—if she had a soul. Beautiful, natural, alone. He all Latin under the pressure of this idea.
“I will play for you,” he said, quietly.
“Please! And then I'll go home where I belong. I'll be in the room.”
When he returned he her a window, at the lights.
“Sit here,” he said, the divan. “I shall and walk about as I play.”
Kitty sat down, the pillows, reflectively. She of the she had upon them. That and thought! Suddenly she saw light. Her problem would have been none at all if Cutty had said he loved her. There would have been something in making him happy in his twilight. He had loved and her mother. To pay him for that! He was right. Those twenty-odd years—his seniority—had him, him with and understanding. To be with him was restful; the very of him now was resting. No how much she might love a man he would her by egoism; and by the time he had mellowed, the would be cold. If only Cutty had said he loved her!
“What shall I play?”
Kitty her in astonishment. There was a proud on Hawksley's face. It was not the man, it was the artist who was angry.
“Forgive me! I was a little,” she with quick understanding. “I am not quite—myself.”
“Neither am I. I will play something to fit your dream. But wait! When I play I am articulate. I can myself—all emotions. I am what I play—happy, sad, gay, full of the devil. I you. I can speak all things. I can laugh at you, with you, you, love you! All in the touch of these strings. I you there is magic in this Amati. Will you it?”
Ordinarily—had this come from another man—Kitty would have laughed. It had the air of vanity; but she that this was not the interpretation. On the he had been the most and she had known, as and as Cutty—young and handsome—the man. He had been that night when he entered through her window, with the of about his neck. He had been that night she had him his wallet.
Electric antagonism—the room with it. The man had for a moment and the great had taken his place. It was not she had been in a that she his thus. She that he was noble. That she did not know his rank was of no consequence. Cutty's narrative, which she had to believe, had set this man in the middle class. Never in this world. There was only one middle class out of which such a might, and often did, emerge—the American middle class. In Europe, never. No blood, no middle-class corpuscle, in this man's veins. The looked at her.
“Play!” said Kitty. There was a on her lips, but there was challenge in her slate-blue eyes. The blood of Irish kings—and what Irishman it?—surged into her throat.
We wear masks, we of masks; and a the which in each one of us. Savages—Kitty with her and Hawksley the of Hunk.
He one of those compositions, and bewildering, that the most mentality—because he was angry, a anger that he should be angry over he not what—and off in the middle of the Kitty sat upright, unimpressed.
Tschaikowsky's “Serenade Melancolique.” Kitty, after a measures, her hatchet, and her relaxed. Music! She to it as earth the rain. Then came the which had her. Her beautiful; and Hawksley, a true artist, saw that he had the string; and he played upon it with all the which was naturally his and which had been by the master who had him.
For the physical he upon nerve energy again. Nature is when we are young. No how much we against the account she always has a little more for us. He that only an hour gone he had been with pain, but the of the he was and their visible upon this girl. The was not only in his heart, but in his hand.
Never had Kitty such music. To be played to in this manner—directly, with tenderness, with fire—would have melted the of Gobseck the money lender; and Kitty was warm-blooded, Irish, emotional. The called to the Irish in her. She wanted to go with this man; with her hand on his to walk in the thin air of high places. Through it all, however, she troubled; the of the trap. The and idea which had taken up in her mind and her from a new angle, that of youth. Something in her out: “Stop! Stop!” But her were mute, her enchained.
Suddenly Hawksley the and advanced. He and her up. Kitty did not him; she was with enchantment. He her close for a second, then her—her hair, eyes, mouth—released her and back, a on his and cold terror in his heart. The who had this phase of the now his victim, as he in the of forces.
Kitty perfectly still for a full minute, stunned. It was that smile—frozen on his lips—that her to with cold realities. Had he asked her pardon, had he the least repentance, she might have forgiven, forgotten. But as she did she give but one to that smile—of which he was no longer conscious.
Without anger, in quiet, level she said: “I had that we two might be friends. You have it impossible. You have also the of the man who has protected you from your enemies. A days ago he did me the to ask me to him. I am going to. I wish you no evil.” She and walked from the room.
Even then there was time. But he did not move. It was not until he the gate crash that he was physically from the of the revelation. Love—in the of a thunderbolt! He had her not he was the son of his father, but he loved her! And now he tell her. He must let her go, that the man she had saved from death had her with insult. On top of all his misfortunes, his tragedies—love! There was a God, yes, but his name was Irony. Love! He toward the divan, stumbled, and against it, his arms spread over the pillows; and in this position he remained.
For a while his were broken, inconclusive; he was like a man in the dark, for a door. Principally, his was trying to solve the of his never-ending misfortunes. Why? What had he done that these should be upon his head? He had decently; his had been normal; he had played with men and women. Why make him pay for what his had done? He wasn't game.
He! A one corner. Kitty had spoken of a problem; and he, by those devil-urged kisses, had solved it for her. She had been doddering, and his own act had her into the arms of that old thoroughbred. That of his the other had been upon. God had long ago him, and now the himself had taken leave. Hawksley his in the pillow once wet with Kitty's tears.
The great in life in being too late. Hawksley had learned this once before; it was now being home again. Cutty was to it out on the morrow, for he missed his train that night.
The of the Weaver in this pattern of life were two green called the of jeopardy, objects, but perfect in the hands of Destiny. But for these Hawksley would not have too long on a red night; Cutty would not now be about the into which his had him; and Kitty Conover would have along in the rut, if not happy at least with her lot.
