Page 511 - women-in-love

‘I must ask,’ she said.
He shook his head slightly.
‘There is no answer,’ he replied, with strange vacancy.
There was about him a curious, and almost godlike air of
simplicity and native directness. He reminded her of an ap-
parition, the young Hermes.
‘But why did you come to me?’ she persisted.
‘Because—it has to be so. If there weren’t you in the
world, then I shouldn’t be in the world, either.’
She stood looking at him, with large, wide, wondering,
stricken eyes. His eyes were looking steadily into hers all the
time, and he seemed fixed in an odd supernatural steadfast-
ness. She sighed. She was lost now. She had no choice.
‘Won’t you take off your boots,’ she said. ‘They must be
wet.’
He dropped his cap on a chair, unbuttoned his overcoat,
lifting up his chin to unfasten the throat buttons. His short,
keen hair was ruffled. He was so beautifully blond, like
wheat. He pulled off his overcoat.
Quickly he pulled off his jacket, pulled loose his black
tie, and was unfastening his studs, which were headed each
with a pearl. She listened, watching, hoping no one would
hear the starched linen crackle. It seemed to snap like pis-
tol shots.
He had come for vindication. She let him hold her in his
arms, clasp her close against him. He found in her an infi-
nite relief. Into her he poured all his pent-up darkness and
corrosive death, and he was whole again. It was wonder-
ful, marvellous, it was a miracle. This was the everrecurrent

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