XXVIII
A woman's heart may be said to resemble a subterranean cavern to whichcommunication is had by means of a trap-door. How the lover enters thisguarded precinct depends upon the lover and the woman. Sometimes thetrap-door is jerked open, and he is hurled down with no by your leave,gobbled up, willing or unwilling. Sometimes there is a desperate fightjust over the trap-door, in which he does sometimes, but not always,come off victor. At other times he suddenly finds himself ramblingthrough those labyrinthine passages, to his surprise and that of thewoman, who, however, perceives him instantly. There is no such fallacyas that a girl turns in terror or in any other sentiment from theknowledge of this dweller below the trap-door. A woman of experiencemay, after that first glimpse: she may, in fact, bolt the trap-door yetmore tightly and sit herself upon it. But a girl uses it as a frame forher face and watches every movement of the occupant with neither fearnor foreboding until occasion comes,--hanging the halls with thetapestry of dreams, fitting the end of each rose-hued scented gallerywith the magic mirror of the future.
Magdalena, at the end of that morning in the woods, was quite aware thatshe was in love. She wondered why she had not thought of it before, andconcluded that in the prelude she had been merely fascinated by thefirst enthralling man she had known. The trap-door of her heart was notjealously guarded; nevertheless, it was not yawning for an occupant.Just how and when Trennahan slipped in, she could not have told, butthere he certainly was, and there he would stay so long as life was inher.
He went home with her to luncheon, and she longed to have him go, thatshe might be alone with the thought of him. He left early in theafternoon, and she locked herself in her room and sat for hours staringinto the tree-tops swimming in their blue haze. She was not in the leastterrified at the beginnings of tumult within her; she rather welcomedthem as the birthright of her sex. In this first stage, she hardly caredwhether Trennahan were in love with her or not, having none of theinstinct of the huntress and her imagination being a slow one. It wasenough that she should see him for many hours alone during this dreamyexquisite summer, that she should look constantly into the cold eyesthat had their own power to thrill. That he was not the orthodox loverin appearance, manner, nor age pleased her the better. She was not likeother girls, therefore it was fitting that she should find her mateamong the odd ones of earth. That there might be others like him in thegreat world whence he came, that he might have loved and been loved bywomen of the world, never occurred to her. She was content, having foundher other part, and wove no histories of the past nor future.
But as the weeks went on and their intimacy grew, she accepted the factthat he loved her before the disposition to speculate had arrived in thewake of love. During the hours that they spent rambling through thewoods, or in whatever fashion pleased their mood, although he did notstartle her by definite word or act, he managed to convey that theirfuture was assured, that she was his, and that in his own time he shouldclaim her. By the time this dawn broke, her imagination was beating atits flood-gates, and shortly broke loose. Thereafter when she was notwith Trennahan in the present, she was his in a future built on thefoundations of all she had read and all that instinct taught her. Shehad no wish that the present should change; it was enough that itsuggested the inevitable future. She was happy, and she knew thatTrennahan was happy.
Meanwhile they escaped the others and rode together before breakfast,read together after, explored every corner of the woods, and talked ofmany of the things under heaven. Magdalena, except for an occasionalflutter of eyelid or leap of colour, confessed nothing: her pride was asupple armour that she laced tightly above her heart; but Trennahan'svery self lifted the trap-door and looked to him through her eyes, andhe had no misgivings. Sometimes he awakened suddenly in the night andgave a quick, short laugh: he was so new to himself. But he knew that hehad found something very like true happiness, and he was loving her verydeeply. At first he had been pricked by the apprehension that it couldnot last; that nature had constructed him to move upon the lower planes;that a prolonged tour on the heights would result in disastrous andpossibly hideous reaction: his time-worn habits of loving had been ofwoof and make so different. But as time passed and the light in hisspirit spread until it dazzled his eyes and consumed his memories, asthe sense of regeneration grew stronger, as the future beckonedalluringly, as he forgot to remember whether Magdalena were plain orbeautiful, as peace and content and happiness possessed him,--he ceasedto question his immutability. He had lived in the world for forty years,and it was like an old bottle of scent long uncorked. The ideals of hisyouth had not changed; they had gone. Beautiful women had turned to gallon his tongue, shrunken to their skeletons in his weary eyes. Fate hadsteered his bark in the open sea of bachelorhood until he was old enoughand wise enough to choose his mate with his soul and his brain, and Fatehad steered him to Magdalena. He was profoundly thankful.
Their intimacy attracted little attention in Menlo Park, for the reasonthat it was confined within the wooded limits of Fair Oaks. When theyrode and drove with the others and attended dinners and dances, theykept apart. As Rose had predicted, gaieties were sporadic, although theyoung people met somewhere, usually at the Yorbas', every Saturdayevening; what others did during the long hot days when there was nocompany to entertain, concerned no one. Occasionally one of DonRoberto's huge farm waggons, as deep as a tall man's height, was filledwith hay, and young Menlo Park jolted slowly to the hills. They atetheir luncheon by cool streams dark with meeting willows, and poked atthe tadpoles, gathered wild roses, killed, perhaps, a snake or two.Then, toward evening, they jolted home again, hot, dusty, and weary, butsupremely content in having lived up to the traditions of Menlo Park.Tiny alone came out triumphant on these trying occasions. Dressed incool white, she seated her diminutive self in the very middle of thehaystack and talked little. The others, undaunted by the sun, started inhigh spirits, flirted with energy, and changed their positions manytimes. Upon the return journey, Tiny, again, sat serene and white; therest dangled over the sides as a last relief for aching limbs and backs,and forgot the very alphabet of flirtation. It is true that Magdalenadid not flirt; but she worked hard to keep her guests pleased andcomfortable, and usually went to bed with a headache.
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