The Deaves Affair. Footner Hulbert

not. There were fascinating contradictions. The bright hair was gloriously red: the eyes too large for her face and brown, extraordinary eyes revealing a strong soul. They were capable both of melting and of flashing, but especially of flashing; the soul was imperious. As for the rest of her, the dear straight little nose was non-committal, the mouth fresh and childlike, with a slight, appealing droop in the corners. In short, Nature the great experimentalist had in this case endowed a most sweet and kissable little body with the soul of a warrior.

      Evan could not have argued this all out, but his inner self perceived it. His feelings as he gazed at her were mixed. The dear little thing! the enchanting playmate; his arms fairly ached to gather her in. At the same time the deeper sight was whispering to him that this was no playmate for a man's idleness, but a soul as strong as his own – or stronger, to whom he must yield all or nothing, and he was afraid.

      As for her, she simply looked at him inscrutably. He could not tell if she were pleased with what she saw.

      Finally self-consciousness returned to both with a rush. They blushed and turned from each other.

      "You must go now," the girl said gently.

      He understood from her tone that she did not greatly desire him to go, but that it was up to him to find a reason for staying.

      "Let me help you get your things in order," he said eagerly. "You can't shove trunks and furniture around."

      She hesitated, thinking perhaps of the censorious landlady.

      Evan made haste to follow up his advantage. "This trunk. Where will you have it put?"

      She gave in to him with the ghost of a shrug. "It has nothing in it that I shall want," she said. "Shove it as far back in the closet as it will go."

      In the closet her dresses were already hanging. The delicate perfume he had already remarked made his head swim again. As he bent down to shove the trunk back, her skirts brushed his cheek like a caress. They were burning when he came out. Perhaps she guessed; at any rate she quickly turned her head.

      "You don't want the sofa in the middle of the room," Evan said to create a diversion.

      "Put it with its back against the fireplace, please. I shall not be having a fire for months to come. That will leave the space by the window for my writing-table."

      While they discussed such safe matters as the disposal of the furniture they never ceased secretly to take stock of each other. What people say to each other at any time only represents a fraction of the intercourse that is taking place. Under cover of the most trifling conversation there may be exciting reconnaisances going on, scout-work and even pitched battles of the spirit.

      Evan could not make her out at all. She seemed to single him out, to encourage him as far as a self-respecting woman might, yet an instinct warned him not to bank on it. There was an unflattering impersonal quality in her encouragement; behind it one glimpsed formidable reserves. She was wrapped in reticence like a mantle. Evan had a feeling that if she had been really drawn to him she would not have been so nice to him. On the other hand "coquette" did not fit her at all; not with those eyes. Evan thought he knew a coquette when he saw one; their blandishments were not such as hers.

      So for a while all went swimmingly, and the moments flew. Evan managed to make the business of arranging the furniture last out the greater part of the evening. To save her face she bade him go at intervals, but he always contrived to find an excuse to delay his departure.

      There was no reticence in Evan. He loved her at sight and his instinct was to open his heart. Of course he was not quite guileless; the portrait of himself that he drew for her was not exactly an unflattering one, but it was a pretty honest one under the circumstances. He was careful not to bore her, and to grace his tale with humour.

      Oddly enough the more of himself that he offered her, the less pleased she seemed to be. As the evening wore on she developed a tartness that was inexplicable to Evan. He cast back in his mind in vain to discover the cause of his offense. Yet she would not let him stop talking about himself either, but drew him on with many questions, interested in his tale it would seem, merely for the sake of making sarcastic comments. As for talking about herself, nothing would induce her to do so.

      It was a more unamiable side of her character that she revealed, but the enamoured Evan, even while she flouted him, forgave her. "Something is the matter," he said to himself. "This is not her true self." He told her of the black dog that had been on his back all day.

      "But now I'm cured," he said, looking at her full.

      She chose to ignore the implication.

      Evan began leading up to a desire that he had not yet dared to express. "My partner said you were a singer," he said.

      "Have you been discussing me?" she said with an affronted air.

      "Why, yes. Nothing so exciting as your coming ever happened in this old house."

      "I teach singing," she said carelessly.

      "Won't you sing me a song?"

      She decisively shook her head. "Not to-night."

      "But why?"

      "Dozens of reasons. One is enough; I don't feel like it."

      "To-morrow night, then?"

      "Aren't you taking a good deal for granted?"

      "But you said not to-night. That suggests another night."

      "Oh, one doesn't weigh every word."

      "Well, I'll be listening out to-morrow night on the chance."

      For some reason this annoyed her excessively. A bright little spot appeared on each cheek-bone. "Then you'll force me to keep silent however I feel."

      "Why – what's the matter?" said Evan blankly.

      "You imply that if I happen to sing you will regard it as an invitation to come down here."

      "Why, I never thought of such a thing," he said in dismay.

      His honesty was so unquestionable that she got angry all over again, because she had made the mistake of imputing such a thought to him. Indeed a disinterested observer could not but have seen that some perverse little imp was playing the devil with this charming girl. Angry at him or angry at herself – or both, she had ceased to be mistress of the situation and her forces were thrown into confusion. Whatever she said, it instantly occurred to her that it was the wrong thing to say.

      "You're spoiled like all the rest," she said. "A woman cannot be decently civil to you, but you immediately begin to presume upon it." This was said with a smile that was supposed to be tolerant, but she was angry clear through, and of course it showed.

      It was all a mystery to Evan. With a hand on the table he had just moved, he was staring down at it as if he had discovered something of absorbing interest in the grain of the wood. He knew she was unreasonable, but he did not blame her; he was merely trying to think how to accommodate himself to her unreasonableness; he was pretty sure that whatever he might say would only make matters worse, so he kept silent.

      But no red-haired woman can endure silences either. "If you've nothing further to say you'd better go," she said at last.

      "I was wondering what I had done to offend you," said Evan.

      She laughed, but it had not a mirthful sound. "How funny you are! Strangers don't quarrel. They've nothing to quarrel about!"

      "But you are angry."

      "Nonsense!" she said languidly. "I'm very much obliged to you for your help. But there's nothing else you can do."

      "Meaning I'd better beat it."

      She was magnificently silent.

      "I'm going. But it's hard to go, not knowing what's the matter."

      She had the air of one dealing with a trying child. "How often must I tell you that there's nothing in the world the matter?"

      "You are not the same as you were when I came."

      For some reason this flicked her on the raw. She flushed. She stamped her foot. "You're – you're impossible!" she cried. "Will you go!"

      As