Get a Load of This

     “Why do you say that?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. “The touch of fairyland has gone away. That sounds so sad and final.”

     She didn't look at him. “Do you remember the fireflies at Arolo? The banks of the lake in the moonlight with hundreds of fireflies like silver sparks glowing in the grass?”

     “There is something wrong,” he said. “Tell me, isn't there something wrong?”

     “Do you feel it too?”

     “Then there is something. What is it?”

     “I've told you.”

     “Please don't be mysterious. Tell me.”

     She took a nervous sip from her glass and didn't say anything. Mandell wondered why she looked so tragic. He thought this talk about fairyland was under the arm. He liked straight dealings himself and fancy language gave him a pain.

     “Are you sorry you've come?” the big man asked. “Is that it? Would you rather we had gone to Europe instead?”

     She shook her head. “No, it's not that. You see, the edges are frayed now. Please don't make me say it. You must feel as I feel.”

     He stretched out his hand to take hers, but she avoided him. “Why must you talk in riddles? First, the touch of fairyland has gone, and now the edges are frayed. What do you mean?”

     She finished her drink. “I'm trying so hard to be kind,” she said. “Can't you see that? Things don't mean the same to me any more—there, I've told you.”

     Still he couldn't grasp what she meant. He signalled to Mandell to fill the glasses. Mandell gave an elaborate start, as if he had just noticed them, and brought the shaker over. “You like these, sir?” he said agreeably.

     “Yes, they are very good,” the big man said, smiling vaguely, “very good indeed.”

     Mandell pushed the glasses a few inches towards them and then stood away, taking up his old position.

     “What was it you were saying?” the big man asked, taking up the thread of the conversation. “Are you bored with travelling? Do you want to settle down?”

     She said, “Yes.”

     “But where? Here?”

     She shook her head. “No. It wouldn't be here.”

     There was a long pause, then he said: “I love you so much that I will go wherever you wish. Tell me, and we will make plans.”

     She faced him. “Can't you understand”—there was an edge on her voice—“I can't bear any more of this? I've tried and tried to tell you, but you won't understand. I can't go on with this any longer.”

     “Don't get angry. I understand that. I am quite willing to do what you want. Really, you can please yourself.”

     She said very intensely, “We must part.”

     He slopped his drink on the mahogany top of the bar. “We must part?” he repeated. “You mean you don't want me any more?”

     “I tried so hard to tell you nicely, but you are so sure of yourself. You have always been so sure of yourself.”

     “No, you have mistaken me if you think that. I have never been sure of myself, but I've been sure of you. It isn't the same thing. I thought your love for me was as enduring as mine for you. You mustn't say I was sure of myself. I trusted your love. I had to have something I need not doubt. Don't you understand! With all this horrible chaos in the world, with lies and envy and sordid business, I hung on to the one thing I thought would never forsake me.”

     She said, “I'm very sorry.”

     “Of course”—he passed his fingers through his hair—“I know you are. When did it happen? Recently?”

     She said: “Now I've told you I don't want to talk about it any more.”

     “You can't leave it like that. I'm crazy about you. You know I'm crazy about you. Have I done anything that decided you?”

     She shook her head. “I'm bad,” she said softly; “I thought I could find the happiness I wanted with you, but I haven't. I must live my life. I have not the courage to pretend. You wouldn't want me to pretend, would you?”

     “Why do you say you're bad? Is it because there is someone else?”

     She hesitated a moment, then she said: “Yes, yes. I didn't want to tell you, but I must. You are bound to hear sooner or later.”

     With the morbid interest of a lounger at a street accident, Mandell watched the big man dispassionately. He noticed that he had suddenly gone very pale and it was only with difficulty that he controlled himself.

     “I see,” he said.

     “No,” she said quickly, “you don't. You couldn't possibly. You are thinking that I have wounded your pride. I know how men feel when this happens. But it won't wound your pride. I'm so glad about that because you have been so very sweet to me. You have, and I have appreciated—”

     “Please,” he said, “don't talk like that. You are making my love sound like a donation to a hospital. It wasn't like that. I gave you everything, and I suppose it just wasn't enough.”

     Mandell saw her flinch and he raised his eyebrows approvingly. He thought this big guy was taking it lying down. What this dame wanted was fireworks. He sniffed contemptuously. All this talk about fairyland and frayed edges—it was just so much crap.

     “I'm going away with Margaret Whitely,” she said quietly.

     The big man's colour came back, making his face congested. “Who?” he said, staring at her.