Winner Take All Part 21

She too had dreamed what that embrace would be; she had wanted always to be near him, yet she had just shrunk from it.

"Who am I to dictate such terms to life?" Felicity had demanded.

"And who was she," in all that long month Cecille had been asking of herself, "who was _she_? And what was she waiting for?"

Even a percentage of happiness, Felicity had preached, would be less unendurable than no happiness--ever--at all; and she had at last convinced herself that this was so. Yet now she shook with doubt. Was this dead thing the actuality which at any price she had hoped to save?

Once she was very close to flight; more than once, more childishly than she knew, she wished that she would die.

But she kept to her promise and waited; she was ready and went with him at three, though after he had put her in the taxi and climbed in beside her, she found it difficult to breathe. She could not have forced words from her throat had she wanted to, and he was as silent as she. For at the end of hours he had hit upon an explanation of this mood of hers, her trouble, and it was troubling him deeply, too. Two or three times, watching her still face and quiet hands, it had been upon the tip of his tongue to tell her that after all they could still abandon his plan.

He had not offered to kiss her again, nor even reached for her hand, and she had been grateful for this, almost hysterically grateful as she recalled the little opportunities which she had once contrived for just such contacts. And the taxi was not merely stifling; it was like a trap.

The seat was far too narrow. Even though she huddled into her corner the six inches of clear s.p.a.ce which separated them was all too brief.

So they rode south, both unhappier with every turn of the wheels, till suddenly he saw her hands tighten into fists, and her lips begin to move.

"I can't," was what he made of that whisper. "Oh, ask him to stop--please--please!"

He did not question her; her face was enough. The cab pulled up to the curb. She flung open the door and started to get out. But she could not go like this--not without a word--not without some explanation--even if she had to brave his rage.

"I can't," she told him. The voice was tired, but not beaten--no. "I thought I could, because I loved you oh--so--much. But I can't. I know it now; I've known it all along."

But he didn't seem angry; he seemed only gentle and sorry. And his voice sounded sorry, and kind.

"I think I knew it, too," he was saying, slowly; "knew it was wrong, all the while. But I didn't realize how wrong till I saw it was making you sad. At first it seemed to me that this would be the finer way, quiet and soon over, no fuss nor any crowd. I have seen weddings that were ribald and not sacred, and I wanted ours to be none of that. Just you and I and the minister, with Hamilton and English standing by; and then just you and I going away together, leaving no wise winking, no meaning whispers behind. And that _was_ right,--but only half right; I have been selfish with you. It is a sober step for a girl like you; she wants her folks at such a time. We will wait now for your people."

She had paused to wait for his answer--his anger--with one foot upon the running board, one foot on the curb. But slowly, as his voice went gravely on and on, she turned and faced him and listened, incredulous.

The words were distinct enough; they drummed at her ears, but they did not penetrate, not even after he had finished, until she stared about her and saw how far they'd come. They were far south of Grand Central and Forty-second Street. Then it went reeling through her.

He would have stepped out, but she pushed him back and followed him inside.

"Where were we going?" she gasped. But she knew--she knew! She wanted to laugh, and wanted to cry, and didn't know which to do.

"We have to get a license, you know," he told her soberly.

She decided then to cry, not much, just a little. But she made him smile.

"We've lost a lot of time," she sniffed brokenly. "You'd better tell him to hurry."

The driver had been disappointed; he had expected more of her. But then you couldn't never tell about them dames with real cla.s.s. But he was deferential; he had recognized his fare.

"Where to, Mr. Blair?" he opened the door at that moment to ask. "We gotta step on 'er, if you still want to make it."

Perry ordered him to step on 'er.

Then the miracle came to pa.s.s. She found the worn seat yards too wide, the mean interior cathedral.

And Hamilton and Jack English did not fail them. They were waiting.

They were "in his corner" as they had promised to be. They accompanied the bride and groom to the station. And while Hamilton was shaking hands with her husband, Jack English found opportunity for a word with his wife.

"Didn't I tell you?" he asked. "Didn't I say you'd picked a game guy?"

She was dewy of lip, star-eyed.

"You told me," she said.

He studied her with peculiar intentness.

"This game will never hold him," he at last went on. "He'll want to take you far, so his fight has just begun. You believe in him. You'll be proud of him, some day."

She dropped her eyes; she was too honest with herself not to admit that she had wondered about that, often hoped and therefore feared she might not be.

"I mean to," she answered, her voice not large. "And I'm proud enough, right now."

But not until hours after did she realize how proud. Hours later as she sat in their drawing-room on the Lake Sh.o.r.e Limited and watched her husband, just outside the open door, talking with a senator and a prominent divine, her tiny disloyalty punished her a little. How hard and clear cut his profile was--his nose was rather large! And how man-sure, and boyishly diffident. She'd be secure, her whole life through--and she hated men who boasted. She suffered some for her sn.o.bbish wonder; but she was conscious of a new, great joy.

"My lad!" she tried it aloud. "My lad!"

She laid her fingers to her throat. A pulse throbbed there.

How eager they seemed for his company; how interested! And there was no patronage in their manner; rather they sought to establish equality; they sought to be approved. This game would not hold him--and their chance was equal to any. They were both young, very young--though she was extremely mature for twenty years! Maybe--she didn't lean exactly toward the ministry--but perhaps a senator--

Her eyes grew misty and veiled; she was lost to all but her dreams.

And then the train stopped and she heard the senator talking, his voice very loud with no din of motion to drown it.

"I snapped my right over"--it punctured her blissful gossamer of fancy--"I snapped my right over--and _he_ made no more trouble for anyone, in _that_ town."

She heard her husband answer, but could not make out the words. But apparently the prominent divine had been champing on the bit; the senator, she thought, must have interrupted him.

"--a bully, the town bully, and an extremely powerful man. But that did not deter me. I was outraged, you see--righteously indignant. So I hooked with my left--I believe, sir, that that is the correct term--"

The absurd, fat things! She heard her husband a.s.suring him that it was.

Her husband!

So later he returned to a very bright-eyed wife. He dropped into a seat and she was happier still at the happiness in his eyes. For a time he was quiet; then suddenly he slanted his head at her. He began to tell her about the pots and pans.

"Some battle!" he drawled at the finish of it. "Champion--winner take all!"

Nor had he been able to keep down a little note of pride. It was quite as if, still humbly, in his own plains' talk, he had a.s.sured her, "Your husband is no dub."

And so she started that soon to become better acquainted with him. He was no braggart with others; to his own wife he would boast a little.

Husbands were likely to, she realized--she loved him more.

And the words had started a thought in her own head. She had lost that phrase of Felicity's, and searched for it, and was glad to find it again.

"Some battle," she echoed softly. "Some battle--winner take all."

Then she rose and went to him.