The haunting hand
“I didn’t know,” persisted Corinne with a frown, “that you and Gene
were _particular_ friends.”
Lulu said nothing for a second, then she threw Margot an enigmatic
little smile.
“Suppose you ask Gene what sort of ‘particular’ friends we are,
Margot. I’m sure he’ll tell you. Well----” she turned to the star, “if
that’s all you want of me, Miss Delamar, guess I’ll run along.”
Margot gave her an unusually bright smile, but Corinne said rather
crossly:
“Run along, by all means.”
After Lulu had gone, Corinne threw herself into the easy chair,
lighted a cigarette, and asked Margot to sit down.
“Thanks, but I’ll have to be running along myself. I can’t tell you,
Miss Delamar, how I appreciate your interest in me. You’re really
awfully good to me.” The look in her eyes conveyed to Corinne the fact
that her loyalty to Margot in the matter of Gene and Lulu had not been
wasted.
“See here, my dear.” Corinne spoke slowly between puffs on her
cigarette. “I wouldn’t, if I were you, pay any attention to that
‘tripe’--to borrow one of Stoner’s pet vulgarities--about Gene and
Lulu. If he was with that little mutton-head last night, there was
some good reason for it, which he’ll tell you quick enough. Don’t take
it seriously.”
“Why should I!” Margot laughed, with a gaiety that did not deceive
Corinne. Then she said good-by and departed.
On her way to the train she deliberated whether or not to take any
initiative where Gene was concerned. The suspicion had come to her,
that he was angry and hurt, far more seriously than she had imagined
possible--that is, assuming that he was sincere in his protests of
love for her. A faint doubt on this point pricked her consciousness
with uneasy reminders of Lulu’s enigmatic smile. Could it be possible
that Gene was like the majority of men!
At last Margot faced the unpleasant conviction that she was miserable
at the very idea of Gene’s insincerity being a possible factor in the
situation. She shrank from acknowledging to herself that she felt
jealousy of Lulu Leinster, for jealousy is an admission of
inferiority. But it actually came to that, if she were to be honest
with herself. She _was_ jealous--horribly jealous--and miserable as
she had never supposed she could be over a man.
Well--she’d been rather silly, playing a waiting game with Gene, and
pretending not to take him seriously, and it was up to her to give him
the benefit of the doubt. She’d send for him and ask him frankly about
Lulu. If, in so doing, she would run a risk of showing Gene how much
she really loved him, surely it was worth the risk. She sent him a
telegram from Astoria to come and take her out to dinner, then she
hurried back to town.
CHAPTER XVII.
“BETTER THAN BROTHERLY!”
The door of Margot’s room shut out the rest of the world, and she
and Gene stood looking at each other.
He had come at her bidding, a little reluctantly it had seemed to her,
but she had greeted him with gay insouciance and had delicately
skirted the edge of personalities during the dinner hour.
She had told him of the encounter with Stoner the preceding day; of
his unexpected appearance that morning, and his frank avowal of guilt;
of Corinne’s amazing attitude toward herself, and of the final outcome
so far as the president and directors were concerned. She had actually
made him laugh with her humorous treatment of events and the persons
motivating them. She had caught a quick frown at her description of
Stoner’s friendly parting with her in Corinne’s dressing-room, and her
heart had beaten a little faster. Why should Gene frown at mention of
Stoner unless he were actually in love with her?
It was all told, and as they stood facing each other, behind her
closed door, there was nothing between her and Gene except mutual
doubt and suspicion.
“Well,” she began lightly, sparring for time, “I hope I didn’t butt
into any of your plans for this evening by sending for you, Gene.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” he said sternly, looking at her with
unhappy eyes.
“‘Funny!’” She gave a nervous laugh. “Why, no. I’m quite serious. Come
on, let’s sit down. I hate talking standing up.”
She moved to the divan and he took a chair a few feet away and sat
down a little stiffly, Margot thought.
She saw that he was not going to help her out, and with sudden
irritation she said abruptly:
“I thought _possibly_ you might have an engagement for to-night with
Lulu Leinster.”
He bent forward and looked at her intently.
“So--that big stiff, that cad, told you he saw us last night.”
“He mentioned it--casually.” Margot tapped the end of an unlighted
cigarette with elaborate unconcern. Then she flashed him a sudden
glance of assumed surprise. “Why was it such a horrible faux-pas for
him to have mentioned it?”
“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” Gene said quietly. “Some other
man might have mentioned a thing like that--‘casually,’ as you call
it--but not Stoner. He had some mean motive or he wouldn’t have
bothered to talk about us.”
“Well--perhaps,” Margot conceded slowly. “However, the interesting
fact is that you _were_ with Lulu last night. You see, Stoner told us
that Lulu was going out with him, or after him, to the coast, and it
seems that Corinne had signed her up for her next picture, so she was
sure Stoner had lied. She sent for Lulu and questioned her, and to my
annoyance asked her if it were true that Stoner had seen you two
together last night. Lulu said it was. So that was that. I’m just
amused, you know, for I hadn’t supposed you cared enough for the
little prize beauty to spend an hour with her, voluntarily.”
“You know damn well I don’t.” Gene’s unexpected violence was rather
startling. He stared at her with somber eyes.
“Then what, may I ask, just in passing, happened to bring about the
little party last night?”
“See here, Margot, I don’t know that you have the right to question
me, considering your _sisterly_ interest in me, but I’ll tell you what
there is to tell, because I’m fool enough to care tremendously what
you think of me, regardless of loving me.”
Margot lowered her eyes quickly. She was afraid of what Gene might
read in them, and she wasn’t quite ready for her own confession.
“When I left you, night before last, I made up my mind that I couldn’t
stand your little cat-and-mouse game any longer. Something rose up in
me against your treatment of me. I couldn’t stand it any longer,” he
repeated himself helplessly. “It seemed to be clear enough that you
didn’t and never would care for me as I wanted you to. I was pretty
miserable. Last evening I happened to run into Lulu on Broadway. It
struck me she wasn’t looking very cheerful herself. On a sudden
impulse I asked her to spend the evening somewhere with me. She
agreed. I admit, frankly, I tried desperately hard to work up a
flirtation with her. She realized just what an effort I was making and
she laughed at me. Finally she got me started about you and I spilled
over, told her everything and she gave me the sympathy I needed.
That’s all there was to it, Margot.”
She studied him for a moment, then she said gently:
“Are you sure that’s all there was to it, on her side?”
Gene gave a sudden laugh. “_Ask_ her,” he said briefly. “Why, she’s so
in love with some nut in the company, who’s got a wife and three kids,
that she can’t _see_ any other man. I gave a little good advice and I
believe it got under her skin. Hope so, anyway.”
With her heart beating faster and her eyes glowing with excitement,
Margot tried to speak calmly.
“Do you remember my saying that after disposing of Stoner and my
mystery, there was something else of importance I had to attend to?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said, frowning at her. “Something of vital
importance, before you could pay any attention to _me_.”
She smiled at him, mockery on her lips, tender challenge in her deep
gray eyes. He got up quickly and stood looking down at her, where she
lay against the cushions.
“For God’s sake, Margot, stop playing with me!”
“Silly, silly old thing!” she said softly. “It never remotely occurred
to you that the ‘important’ thing I hinted at so mysteriously
was--well, my dear, just--you and me.”
He threw himself beside her and leaned over her, speaking fiercely.
“You said you’d let me kiss you as a _brother_, and for the last time.
What the devil did you mean?”
“I meant--that the next time you kissed me, I’d want it to be as--my
lover. Then you became a caveman, and--and I _liked_ it, but you
banged out of the room without waiting to find out.”
He stared at her a second, then he gave a low cry and seized her in
his arms. He kissed her, eyes and throat and mouth, in an ecstasy of
joy and of passion long restrained.
“Darling--darling! I never dreamed--I was afraid even to hope. I love
you so, Margot, I adore you.”
Between his kisses she managed to tell him that she had known beyond
all possibility of doubt, just how deeply she loved him, when he had
given way to his emotions, in that very room two nights before, and
had kissed her as no man had ever kissed her before and as, she could
assure him, no _other_ man would ever kiss her.
“I didn’t have to kiss you to know what I felt for you.” He studied
her face with rapturous intentness. “Women are funny. A man wants to
kiss a woman _because_ he loves her, or rather _if_ he loves her, and
a woman loves a man because he kisses her.”
Margot laughed. “Not quite that, dear. Stoner didn’t arouse my passion
by kissing me.”
Gene drew her closer with a sudden access of possessive jealousy.
“Damn Stoner. Don’t remind me that he ever touched you.”
“That reminds me,” she said softly. “Another awakening I had in regard
to my love for you, Gene, was when I suddenly realized I was miserably
jealous of Lulu. Then I _knew_, even better than I did after your
caveman exhibition, how much I loved you.”
“I’m terribly flattered, darling, but it does strike me as grotesque,
being jealous of that girl. However, I’m mighty glad I ran into her
the other night, if it made you a little surer of your love for me.”
The first hour of love’s abandonment to the joy and thrill of mutual
understanding, made the blood tingle in Margot’s cheeks, and her lips
were tremulous and moist with the first tempest of emotion she had
ever experienced. At last she drew a little out of her lover’s arms
and studied his eager, sensitive face. Suddenly a smile drew up the
corners of her mouth, and she put soft fingers against his lips.
“I’ll believe anything, anything at all you tell me, about adoring me
and how beautiful I am, but don’t you dare ever tell me again that I
could never grow old or ugly in your eyes.”
He laughed and pressed his lips against her hair.
“But it’s the truth. Perhaps we’ll both live long enough for me to
prove it to you, sweetheart.”
“And there’s just one other thing I’d rather not have you say, Gene.
Tell me you love me, as often as you like, but never say you’ll
_always_ love me. Men are always telling women that, and how can
anyone promise such a thing! Live it, Gene--by all means _live_
it--but don’t _say_ it. It might spoil our luck.”
“Fat chance,” he said, with more eloquence of tone than of language.
“By the way, Gene.” She gave him one of her brilliant roguish smiles.
“It’ll be rather nice, after we’re married--I won’t have to call you
by phone if I should get scared by a spook.”
“You little devil!” He gave her a quick hug. “You whimsical darling!”
“‘Whimsical,’” she repeated softly. “That’s rather nice. You never
called me that before.”
“Haven’t I? Well, I’ve often thought it. It describes you better than
anything else. It’s the thing about you that will never let you grow
old or ugly. I _will_ say it, for it’s true. It’s the thing so few