This Side of Paradise
life. Everywhere these countless lights, this promise of a night
of streets and singing—he moved in a half-dream through the crowd
as if expecting to meet Rosalind hurrying toward him with eager
feet from every corner.... How the unforgettable faces of dusk
would blend to her, the myriad footsteps, a thousand overtures,
would blend to her footsteps; and there would be more drunkenness
than wine in the softness of her eyes on his. Even his dreams now
were faint violins drifting like summer sounds upon the summer
air.
The room was in darkness except for the faint glow of Tom’s
cigarette where he lounged by the open window. As the door shut
behind him, Amory stood a moment with his back against it.
“Hello, Benvenuto Blaine. How went the advertising business
to-day?”
Amory sprawled on a couch.
“I loathed it as usual!” The momentary vision of the bustling
agency was displaced quickly by another picture.
“My God! She’s wonderful!”
Tom sighed.
“I can’t tell you,” repeated Amory, “just how wonderful she is. I
don’t want you to know. I don’t want any one to know.”
Another sigh came from the window—quite a resigned sigh.
“She’s life and hope and happiness, my whole world now.”
He felt the quiver of a tear on his eyelid.
“Oh, _Golly_, Tom!”
BITTER SWEET
“Sit like we do,” she whispered.
He sat in the big chair and held out his arms so that she could
nestle inside them.
“I knew you’d come to-night,” she said softly, “like summer, just
when I needed you most... darling... darling...”
His lips moved lazily over her face.
“You _taste_ so good,” he sighed.
“How do you mean, lover?”
“Oh, just sweet, just sweet...” he held her closer.
“Amory,” she whispered, “when you’re ready for me I’ll marry
you.”
“We won’t have much at first.”
“Don’t!” she cried. “It hurts when you reproach yourself for what
you can’t give me. I’ve got your precious self—and that’s enough
for me.”
“Tell me...”
“You know, don’t you? Oh, you know.”
“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”
“I love you, Amory, with all my heart.”
“Always, will you?”
“All my life—Oh, Amory—”
“What?”
“I want to belong to you. I want your people to be my people. I
want to have your babies.”
“But I haven’t any people.”
“Don’t laugh at me, Amory. Just kiss me.”
“I’ll do what you want,” he said.
“No, I’ll do what _you_ want. We’re _you_—not me. Oh, you’re so
much a part, so much all of me...”
He closed his eyes.
“I’m so happy that I’m frightened. Wouldn’t it be awful if this
was—was the high point?...”
She looked at him dreamily.
“Beauty and love pass, I know.... Oh, there’s sadness, too. I
suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the
scent of roses and then the death of roses—”
“Beauty means the agony of sacrifice and the end of agony....”
“And, Amory, we’re beautiful, I know. I’m sure God loves us—”
“He loves you. You’re his most precious possession.”
“I’m not his, I’m yours. Amory, I belong to you. For the first
time I regret all the other kisses; now I know how much a kiss
can mean.”
Then they would smoke and he would tell her about his day at the
office—and where they might live. Sometimes, when he was
particularly loquacious, she went to sleep in his arms, but he
loved that Rosalind—all Rosalinds—as he had never in the world
loved any one else. Intangibly fleeting, unrememberable hours.
AQUATIC INCIDENT
One day Amory and Howard Gillespie meeting by accident down-town
took lunch together, and Amory heard a story that delighted him.
Gillespie after several cocktails was in a talkative mood; he
began by telling Amory that he was sure Rosalind was slightly
eccentric.
He had gone with her on a swimming party up in Westchester
County, and some one mentioned that Annette Kellerman had been
there one day on a visit and had dived from the top of a rickety,
thirty-foot summer-house. Immediately Rosalind insisted that
Howard should climb up with her to see what it looked like.
A minute later, as he sat and dangled his feet on the edge, a
form shot by him; Rosalind, her arms spread in a beautiful swan
dive, had sailed through the air into the clear water.
“Of course _I_ had to go, after that—and I nearly killed myself.
I thought I was pretty good to even try it. Nobody else in the
party tried it. Well, afterward Rosalind had the nerve to ask me
why I stooped over when I dove. ‘It didn’t make it any easier,’
she said, ‘it just took all the courage out of it.’ I ask you,
what can a man do with a girl like that? Unnecessary, I call it.”
Gillespie failed to understand why Amory was smiling delightedly
all through lunch. He thought perhaps he was one of these hollow
optimists.
FIVE WEEKS LATER
Again the library of the Connage house. ROSALIND is alone,
sitting on the lounge staring very moodily and unhappily at
nothing. She has changed perceptibly—she is a trifle thinner for
one thing; the light in her eyes is not so bright; she looks
easily a year older.
Her mother comes in, muffled in an opera-cloak. She takes in
ROSALIND with a nervous glance.
MRS. CONNAGE: Who is coming to-night?
(ROSALIND fails to hear her, at least takes no notice.)
MRS. CONNAGE: Alec is coming up to take me to this Barrie play,
“Et tu, Brutus.” (She perceives that she is talking to herself.)
Rosalind! I asked you who is coming to-night?
ROSALIND: (Starting) Oh—what—oh—Amory—
MRS. CONNAGE: (Sarcastically) You have so _many_ admirers lately
that I couldn’t imagine _which_ one. (ROSALIND doesn’t answer.)
Dawson Ryder is more patient than I thought he’d be. You haven’t
given him an evening this week.
ROSALIND: (With a very weary expression that is quite new to her
face.) Mother—please—
MRS. CONNAGE: Oh, _I_ won’t interfere. You’ve already wasted over
two months on a theoretical genius who hasn’t a penny to his
name, but _go_ ahead, waste your life on him. _I_ won’t
interfere.
ROSALIND: (As if repeating a tiresome lesson) You know he has a
little income—and you know he’s earning thirty-five dollars a
week in advertising—
MRS. CONNAGE: And it wouldn’t buy your clothes. (She pauses but
ROSALIND makes no reply.) I have your best interests at heart
when I tell you not to take a step you’ll spend your days
regretting. It’s not as if your father could help you. Things
have been hard for him lately and he’s an old man. You’d be
dependent absolutely on a dreamer, a nice, well-born boy, but a
dreamer—merely _clever_. (She implies that this quality in itself
is rather vicious.)
ROSALIND: For heaven’s sake, mother—
(A maid appears, announces Mr. Blaine who follows immediately.
AMORY’S friends have been telling him for ten days that he “looks
like the wrath of God,” and he does. As a matter of fact he has
not been able to eat a mouthful in the last thirty-six hours.)
AMORY: Good evening, Mrs. Connage.
MRS. CONNAGE: (Not unkindly) Good evening, Amory.
(AMORY and ROSALIND exchange glances—and ALEC comes in. ALEC’S
attitude throughout has been neutral. He believes in his heart
that the marriage would make AMORY mediocre and ROSALIND
miserable, but he feels a great sympathy for both of them.)
ALEC: Hi, Amory!
AMORY: Hi, Alec! Tom said he’d meet you at the theatre.
ALEC: Yeah, just saw him. How’s the advertising to-day? Write
some brilliant copy?
AMORY: Oh, it’s about the same. I got a raise—(Every one looks at
him rather eagerly)—of two dollars a week. (General collapse.)
MRS. CONNAGE: Come, Alec, I hear the car.
(A good night, rather chilly in sections. After MRS. CONNAGE and
ALEC go out there is a pause. ROSALIND still stares moodily at
the fireplace. AMORY goes to her and puts his arm around her.)
AMORY: Darling girl.
(They kiss. Another pause and then she seizes his hand, covers it
with kisses and holds it to her breast.)
ROSALIND: (Sadly) I love your hands, more than anything. I see
them often when you’re away from me—so tired; I know every line
of them. Dear hands!
(Their eyes meet for a second and then she begins to cry—a
tearless sobbing.)
AMORY: Rosalind!
ROSALIND: Oh, we’re so darned pitiful!
AMORY: Rosalind!
ROSALIND: Oh, I want to die!
AMORY: Rosalind, another night of this and I’ll go to pieces.
You’ve been this way four days now. You’ve got to be more
encouraging or I can’t work or eat or sleep. (He looks around
helplessly as if searching for new words to clothe an old,
shopworn phrase.) We’ll have to make a start. I like having to
make a start together. (His forced hopefulness fades as he sees
her unresponsive.) What’s the matter? (He gets up suddenly and
starts to pace the floor.) It’s Dawson Ryder, that’s what it is.
He’s been working on your nerves. You’ve been with him every
afternoon for a week. People come and tell me they’ve seen you
together, and I have to smile and nod and pretend it hasn’t the
slightest significance for me. And you won’t tell me anything as
it develops.
ROSALIND: Amory, if you don’t sit down I’ll scream.
AMORY: (Sitting down suddenly beside her) Oh, Lord.
ROSALIND: (Taking his hand gently) You know I love you, don’t
you?
AMORY: Yes.
ROSALIND: You know I’ll always love you—
AMORY: Don’t talk that way; you frighten me. It sounds as if we
weren’t going to have each other. (She cries a little and rising
from the couch goes to the armchair.) I’ve felt all afternoon
that things were worse. I nearly went wild down at the
office—couldn’t write a line. Tell me everything.
ROSALIND: There’s nothing to tell, I say. I’m just nervous.
AMORY: Rosalind, you’re playing with the idea of marrying Dawson
Ryder.
ROSALIND: (After a pause) He’s been asking me to all day.
AMORY: Well, he’s got his nerve!
ROSALIND: (After another pause) I like him.
AMORY: Don’t say that. It hurts me.
ROSALIND: Don’t be a silly idiot. You know you’re the only man
I’ve ever loved, ever will love.
AMORY: (Quickly) Rosalind, let’s get married—next week.
ROSALIND: We can’t.
AMORY: Why not?
ROSALIND: Oh, we can’t. I’d be your squaw—in some horrible place.
AMORY: We’ll have two hundred and seventy-five dollars a month
all told.
ROSALIND: Darling, I don’t even do my own hair, usually.
AMORY: I’ll do it for you.
ROSALIND: (Between a laugh and a sob) Thanks.
AMORY: Rosalind, you _can’t_ be thinking of marrying some one
else. Tell me! You leave me in the dark. I can help you fight it
out if you’ll only tell me.
ROSALIND: It’s just—us. We’re pitiful, that’s all. The very
qualities I love you for are the ones that will always make you a