Chapter 2

Marjorie had never made a scene, though; she had simply locked her door
against him. After some years he discovered that she had taken a lover.
It surprised him somewhat. She had seemed so self-sufficient. It was no
concern of his, however, since she never made him publicly ridiculous.

In Paris occasionally during the War he dined with his wife when their
separate engagements permitted. They were friendly enough. When her
lover was killed on the Somme, he was uncertain whether, or how,
to sympathize. So they talked instead, of the convenience of Paris
headquarters for both of them and how the increase in English income
tax was likely to affect her considerable fortune.

He had forgotten almost that Marjorie and he were ever lovers; as she
too seemed to have forgotten. One never could be sure about women,
though. He remembered that he had been unhappy briefly, during the
first months of his severance from Marjorie. Then he consoled himself
here and there, discriminatingly. Later, when he ceased to need
consolation, he continued to amuse himself.

He came closest to disaster in the affair that lasted longest. The
woman, a Viennese dancer, golden-blonde and tempestuous, threatened
suicide. She turned into a poor, frantic girl who wept and stormed
until her lovely face was hideous, while he tried to be firm but
patient, firm but kind, firm but practical. Between her anguished
declarations that he was her world, he tried to make clear to her the
necessity for a man to ride on. She taught him the wisdom of avoiding
women likely to take him with too desperate seriousness.

The dancer had not killed herself; she had taken another lover. He
hurried over his recollection of later encounters with her, when he
thought she might better have killed herself. So many things had died
in her.

Since then he had loved lightly, and hoped he made the lightness of his
loving clear. There was a pattern to such affairs. Some weeks, or a
month or two, of enthusiasm gave the illusion of importance to all of
life. Then slowly it grew familiar and dull. And then, a man rode on.

A man rode on, as kindly as possible, with all the polite gestures
that the behaviour of the woman might permit. Sometimes, if her
understanding of the situation was perfect, she pretended (or perhaps,
it was genuine) to be tired herself before he was thoroughly weary. She
laughed a little at him and his gestures of regret. He enjoyed being
laughed at no more than other men, but it was better than the feeling
of having caused irreparable damage. The next woman always restored a
man’s self-esteem.

He noticed suddenly that the girl beside him was looking unhappy, and
he felt compunction.

The girl was thinking, after watching Boston’s favourite colonel pass:
“This Major Alan What-Ever-His-Name-Is is much handsomer than that
colonel, and has just as many decorations. It was idiotic of me not to
have heard his last name when we were introduced. I can ask Janet, of
course, if we go back there for tea. I don’t _dare_ ask him. He would
think I ought to know. War Correspondent, Major–but there were so many
of them. Awful if we meet anyone I know and I have to present him.

“He looks very stern-faced. No doubt he’s bored with me, but I can’t
think of anything to say, except to ask him how he got his decorations,
and that would be worse than nothing. I’m glad I have a good profile. I
can watch him without turning my head.

“He _is_ gorgeous looking. Heavenly red hair. I might mention that.
Better not, though. Some boys mind having red hair. It may be just
patriotism, or the fact I should have worn a coat over this suit, that
makes me so shivery; but the suit looks so much better without a coat.
I think what I am feeling is love at first sight.

“Why doesn’t he _say_ something to me? I’m not stupid, really. Didn’t I
get honour grades in every single college entrance examination? I could
talk if he would.”

She was quite serious about the honour grades as certification of
intelligence. Because she found Greek grammar and dates in mediaeval
history easy to remember, she was sure that she was extremely
intelligent. She put much more faith in her mind than in her looks. The
looks were so recent.

Like many charming young women, her beliefs ranged from THE FACT that
one should choose a hat to match one’s eyes and furs to match one’s
hair, to THE FACT that when a man said “I love you,” he meant, “I want
to set you up in a proper house with a proper marriage certificate,
and a proper nurse for a proper number of well-behaved children.” The
simplicity of her beliefs was to confuse her always. They were far too
simple to serve as any working guide to conduct in the complication of
the 1920’s.

* * * * *

His voice was solicitous and he smiled down at her.

His voice and his smile, through all the years she was to live, were
to be the things she remembered best about him. The smile–swift,
intimate, tender, promised more comprehension than any man ever could
have for any woman. The voice, deep, warm, vibrantly alive, made even
the most inconsequential things he said sound profoundly significant.

He said, this time, “Are you sure you’re not feeling cold? Perhaps
we’d better go have a cocktail in a bit. The last half of a parade is
repetitive as the last half of a love affair. But you are too young to
know about that, of course.”

She said, “It is getting colder. But they won’t serve you a cocktail,
they won’t serve drinks to officers in uniform.” She remembered having
heard some senior at college complain about that.

He said, “You must go in by yourself and order two Martinis, then I’ll
join you and drink one of them.”

She said, “What fun.” And, to herself, “I shan’t let him know that I’ve
never had a cocktail.”

By her enthusiasm, he suspected it.

“Let’s go then before everyone starts for home and the streets get too
blocked. The Brunswick’s just two or three minutes walk.”

She thought, “Cheers. He isn’t utterly bored with me; he is taking me
places, at least, instead of dropping me on Janet’s doorstep. I hope
some people that I know are at the Brunswick, and see me with him. He’s
_so_ impressive.”

She remembered, and it troubled her for an instant, that she had not
wanted to miss anything in this parade because her grandchildren would
be sure to ask her about it. Well, they would have to ask their
grandfather instead.