The Boy with Wings

by Berta Ruck

  CHAPTER XII

  THE KISS WITHHELD

  He did not pass.

  He stopped--Gwenna felt the touch of his finger on the silver tip of hershoe. All a-tremble with delight she moved aside, and stepped frombehind the screen to face the partner who had chosen her.

  "_Hullo_!" exclaimed Paul Dampier, with real surprise in his smile. "Ididn't know it was _you_!"

  Gwenna felt a little dashed, even as he slipped his arm about her andthey began to waltz. She looked up into the blonde face that seemedburned so very brown against his dress-shirt, and she ventured, "Youdidn't know it was me? I thought that was why you chose me--I mean, Ithought because I was somebody you knew----"

  "Didn't know you were here. I never thought those were your feet!" hesaid in that adorably deep and gentle voice of his. Adding, as theyturned with the turning throng, something that lifted her heart again,"I chose them because they were the prettiest, I thought."

  It was simply stated, as a fact. But this, the first compliment he'dpaid her, kept her silent with delight. Even as they waltzed, his armabout her rainbow scarf, the girl felt the strongest wish--the wish thatthe dance were at an end and she back in her bedroom at the Club,alone, so that she might think and think again over what he had said.He'd thought she had the prettiest feet!

  "D'you think you could manage to spare me some others?" he asked at theend of that waltz. "You know, you're about the only girl here that Iknow except Miss Long."

  "Leslie would introduce you to anybody you liked"--suggested littleGwenna, feeling very good for having done so. And virtue brought itsreward. For with a glance about him at that coloured noisy crowd thatseemed a handful of confetti tossed by a whirlwind, he told her hedidn't think he wanted to be introduced, much. He wasn't really keen ona lot of people he'd never seen. But if she and Miss Long would give hima few dances----?

  The girl from the country thought it almost too good to be true that sheneed not share him with any of these dangerously fascinating Londonpeople here, except Leslie!

  In a pause they went up to where Leslie was standing near the band.Close beside her the Morris-dancer was wrangling with Hugo Swayne in hiscrazy-work domino, who declared, "Miss Long promised _me_ every otherdance. A week ago, my dear man. Ten days ago----"

  Yes; Leslie seemed to be engaged for every dance and every extra. Shetossed a "_so_ sorry, Mr. Dampier!" over her shoulder, following it withan imperceptible feminine grimace for Gwenna's benefit. With the firstbars of the next waltz she was whirled away by a tall youth garbed,becomingly enough, as a Black Panther. The room was still clear. TheBlack Panther and the boyishly slim girl in mauve tunic and tightswaltzed, for one recurrence of the tune, alone....

  Gwenna, looking after that shapely couple, knew who _he_ was; MontyScott, the Dean's son who had been a medical student when Leslie was atthe Hospital. He had followed her to the Slade to study sculpture, andalready he had proposed to her twice.

  The tall and supple youth held Leslie, now, by his black-taloned gloveson her strait hips. Leslie waltzed with hands clasped at the back of hisneck. Then, with a backward fling of her head and body, she twistedherself out of his hold. She waltzed, holding the flat palms of herhands pressed lightly to the palms of his. The music altered; Leslievarying her step to suit it. She threw back her head again. Round andround her partner she revolved, undulating from nape to heels, nottouching him, not holding him save by the attraction of her black eyesset upon his handsome eyes, and of her red lips of a flirt, from which(it was evident!) the boy could not take his gaze. Once more she shookher purple-casqued head; once more she let him catch her about the hips.Over the canvas floor they spun, Leslie and Monty, black-and-mauve,moving together with a voluptuous swing and zest that marked them as thebest-matched dancers in the room. Well-matched, perhaps, for life,thought Leslie's chum.... But no; as they passed Gwenna saw that theblack eyes and the red mouth were laughing cynically together; shecaught, through the music, Leslie's clear "Don't _talk_! _don't_ talkwhen you're dancing, my good boy.... Spoils everything.... You _can_waltz.... You know you've never anything to _say_, Mont!"

  "I have. I say----"

  Leslie waltzed on unheeding. Whatever he had to say she did not take itseriously. She laughed over his shoulder to little Gwenna, watching....

  Couple after couple had joined in now, following the swift tall gracefulblack shape and the light-limbed mauve one as they circled by. A flutterof draperies and tinsel, a toss and jingle of stage accoutrements; thedancers were caught and sped by the music like a wreath ofrainbow-bubbles on the rise and fall of a wave.

  Gwenna, the Cherub-girl, was left standing for a wistful moment by theside of the tall Airman in evening dress.

  He said, through the music, "Who's your partner for this?"

  She had forgotten. It was the Futurist Folly again. He had to findanother partner. Gwenna danced with her Airman again ... and again....

  Scarcely realising how it happened--indeed, how do these arrangementsmake themselves?--this boy and girl from a simpler world than that ofthis tinsel Bohemia spent almost the whole of the rest of that eveningas they had spent that day in the country, as she would have asked tospend the rest of their lives together.

  Some of the time they danced in the brilliant, heated marquee under theswinging garlands and the lamps. Then again they strolled out into theRiverside garden. Here it was cool and dewy and dim except where, fromthe tent-openings, there was flung upon the grass a broad path of light,across which flitted, moth-like, the figures of the dancers. Above themarquee the summer night was purple velvet, be-diamonded with stars. Atthe end of the lawn the river whispered to the willows and reflected,here the point of a star, there the red blot of a lantern caught in atree.

  Hugo Swayne went by in this bewildering stage, light-and-shade with avery naughty-looking lady who declared that her white frock was merely"'Milk,' out of 'The Blue Bird.'" In passing he announced to his cousinthat the whole scene was like a Conder fan that he had at his rooms.Groups of his friends were simply sitting about and _making_ themselvesinto quite good Fragonards. Little Gwenna did not even try to rememberwhat Fragonard was. None of these people in this place seemed real toher but herself and her partner. And the purple dusk and velvet shadows,the lights and colours, the throb and thrill of the music were just thesetting for this "night of gladness" that was only a little moresubstantial than her other fancies.

  More quickly it seemed to be passing! Every now and again she exultantlyreminded herself, "I am here, with him, out of all these people! He isonly speaking to me! I have him to myself--I must feel that as hard as Ican all the time now, for we shall be going home at the end of thisBall, and then I shall be alone again.... If _only_ I could be with himfor always! How extraordinary, that just to be with one particularperson out of all the world should be enough to make all thishappiness!"

  With her crop-curled head close against his shoulder as they danced, shestole at her boyish partner the shy, defiantly possessive glance that achild gives sometimes to the favourite toy, the toy that focusses allhis dreams. This was "the one particular person out of all the world"whose company answered every conscious and unconscious demand of theyoung girl's nature even as his waltz-step suited her own.

  Yet she guessed that this special quiet rapture could not last. Evenbefore the end of the dance the end of _this_ must surely come.

  It must have been long hours after the waltz-cotillon that they strolleddown to a sitting-out arbour that had been arranged at the end of thepath nearest the river. It was softly lighted by two big Chineselanterns, primrose-coloured, ribbed like caterpillars, with a black baseand a splash of patterned colour upon each; a rug had been thrown on thegrass, and there were two big white-cane chairs, with house-boatcushions.

  Here the two sat down, to munch sandwiches, drink hock-cup.

  "I remembered to bring two glasses, this time," said Paul Dampier.

  Gwenna smiled as she nodded. Her eyes were on those silver white-finnedminnows of her feet,
that he had called pretty.

  He followed her glance as he took another sandwich. "Rather a good idea,wings to your shoes because you're supposed to be a cherub."

  "Oh, but that's not what the wings were supposed to be for," she saidquickly. "I only put those in at the waltz-cotillon so that----"

  Here she stopped dead, wishing that the carpeted grass might open atthose winged feet of hers and swallow her up!

  How could she have given herself away like this? Let him _know_ how shehad wanted him to choose her! when he hadn't even known she was there;hadn't been thinking about her!

  She flurried on: "S-so that they should look more like fancy-dress shoesinstead of real ones!"

  He turned his head, dark and clean-cut against the lambent swayinglantern. He said, out of the gloom that spared her whelming blush, "Oh,was that it! I thought," he added with a teasing note in his voice, "Ithought you were going to say it was to remind me that I'd promised totake you flying, and that it's never come off yet!"

  Gwenna, hesitating for a moment, sat back against the cushions of thewicker-chair. She looked away from him, and then ventured a retort--atiny reproach.

  "Well--it _hasn't_ come off."

  "No, you know--it's too bad, really. I have been most frightfully busy,"he apologised. "But we'll fix it up before you go to-night, shall we?You must come." At this he was glad to see that the Little Thing lookedreally pleased.

  She was awfully nice and sensible, he thought for the severalth time.Again the odd wish took him that had taken him in that field. Yes! He_would_ like to touch those babyish-looking curls of hers with a finger.Or even to rumple them against his cheek.... Another most foolish andincomprehensible wish had occurred to him about this girl, even in herabsence. Apropos of nothing, one evening in his rooms he had rememberedthe look of that throat of hers; round and sturdy and white above herlow collar. And he had thought he would rather like to put his own handsabout it, and to pretend--quite gently, of course--to throttle theLittle Thing. To-night she'd bundled it all up in that sort of featherboa.... Pity.... She was ever so much prettier without.

  Fellow can't say that sort of thing to a girl, though, thought thesimple Paul.

  So he merely said, instead, "Let me stick that down for you somewhere,"and he leant forward and took from her the plate that had held hercress-and-chicken sandwiches. Then he crossed his long legs and leantback again. It was jolly and restful here in the dim arbour with her;the sound of music and laughter came, much softened, from the marquee.Nearer to them, on the water below the willows, there was a littlesplashing and twittering of the moor-hen, roused by something, and thescarcely audible murmur of the Thames, speeding past House-boat Countryto London ... the workaday Embankment.... It was jolly to be soquiet....

  Then, into the happy silence that had fallen between them, there came asound--the sound of the crunching of gravel. Gwenna looked up. Twofigures sauntered past down the path; both tall and shapely and blackagainst the paling, star-sprinkled sky above the frieze of sighingwillows. Then Leslie's clear, careless voice drifted to their ears.

  "Afraid not.... Anyhow, what on earth would be the good of caring '_alittle_'?... I look upon you as such an infant--in arms----"

  Here there was a bass mutter of, "Make it _your_ arms, and I don'tmind!"

  Then Leslie's insouciant: "I _knew_ you'd say that obvious thing. Ialways do know what you're going to do or say next ... fatal, that.... Agirl _can't_ want to marry a man when----"

  Apparently, then, the Dean's son was proposing again?

  As the couple of free-limbed black shadows passed nearer, Paul Dampierkicked his heel against his chair. He moved in it to make it creak morenoisily.

  Good manners wasted!

  For Leslie, as she afterwards told her chum, took for her motto uponsuch occasions, "_And if the others see, what matter they_?"

  Her partner seemed oblivious that there were any "others" sitting inthe shadows. The couple passed, leaving upon the night-breeze a trail ofcigarette-smoke (Leslie's), and an indistinguishable growl, presumablyfrom the Black Panther.

  Leslie's voice floated back, "Not in the mood. Besides! You _had_, lasttime, 'to soften the edges,' as you call it."

  More audibly her partner grumbled, "What's a kiss you've _had_? About assatisfying as last summer's strawberry-ice----"

  A mere nothing--the incident.

  Yet it brought (or hastened) a change into the atmosphere of that arbourwhere, under the giant glowworms of lights swinging above them, twoyoung people sat at ease together without speaking.

  For Gwenna, envious, thought, "Leslie can make a man think of nothingbut her, even when she's 'not in the mood!' I can't. Yet I believe Icould, but for one thing. Even now I don't know that he isn't thinkingabout That Other----"

  "That Other" was her rival, that machine of his that Gwenna had notmentioned all the evening....

  It had come, she knew, that duel between the Girl and the Aeroplane forthe first place in the heart of a Flying Man. A duel as old as theworld, between the thing a man greatly loves, and that which he lovesmore greatly still. She thought of Lovelace who "_loved Honour more_."She thought of the cold Sea that robs the patient, warm-hearted womenashore, of the icy Pole whose magnetism drew men from their wives. Thework that drew the thoughts of her Airman was that Invention that wasknown already as his _Fiancee_....

  "Leslie says it's not as bad as if it were another woman, but I see heras a woman," thought the silent, fanciful girl, "I see her as a sort ofwinged dragon with a figure-head--aeroplanes don't have figure-heads,but this one seems to me to have, just like some of those vessels thatcome into the harbour at Aberdovey. Or like those pictures of harps thatare half a woman. Smooth red hair she has, and a long neck stretchedout, and a rather thin, pale, don't-care sort of face like that girlcalled Muriel. And--and eagle's talons for hands. That's how I see that_Fiancee_ of his, with claws for hands that won't, _won't_ ever let himgo...."

  A puff of wind knocked one of the lanterns above their heads softlyagainst the other; the willows rustled silkily outside. Gwenna satmotionless, holding her breath. Suddenly her reverie had broken off withan abrupt, unspoken--"but it's me he's thinking of _now_...."

  Paul Dampier had been lightly amused by that passing of the othercouple. That friend of hers, Miss Long, was more than a bit of a flirt,he considered. This Little Thing wasn't. Couldn't imagine _her_ giving akiss as some girls give a dance; or even to "soften" a refusal.... Hermouth, he found himself noticing, was full and curly and exactly thecolour of the buds of those fox-gloves that grew all over the shop ather place in Wales. It was probably softer than those curls of hersthat he would (also) like to touch.

  Idiotic idea, though----

  But an idea which is transmittable.

  Gwenna, thrilled by this message which she had caught by a method olderand less demonstrable than Marconi's, realised: "He heard _that_, justnow; that boy wanting to kiss Leslie.... He's thinking, now, that hemight kiss me."

  The boy scarcely at arm's length from her thought a little confusedly,"I say, though.... Rotten thing to do...."

  The girl thought, "He would like to. _What_ is he waiting about? Weshall have to go directly----"

  For the sky outside had been swiftly paling. Now that pure pallor waschanging to the glow of Abyssinian gold. Dawn! From the marquee came alouder blare of music; two long cornet notes and then a rollickingtune--The old "Post Horn" Galop--the last dance. Presently a distantnoise of clapping and calls for "Extra"! There would be no time forextras, she'd heard. They would have to go after this. People werebeginning to go. Already they had heard the noise of a car. His chaircreaked as he moved a little sidewards.

  He told himself, more emphatically, "Beastly rotten thing to do. ThisLittle Thing would never speak to me again----"

  And the girl sat there, without stirring, without glancing at him. Yetevery curve of her little body, every eyelash, every soft breath shedrew was calling him, was set upon "making" him. What could she do moreto make
herself, as Leslie called it, a magnet? Love and innocentlonging filled her to the eyes, the tender fox-glove buds of lips thatcould have asked for nothing better. Even if this _were_ the only time!Even if she never saw him again!

  Wasn't he going to set the crown upon her wonderful dream of a summernight?

  "No, look _here_," the boy remonstrated silently with something inhimself; something that seemed to mock him. He lifted his fair head witha gleam of that pride that goes so often before a fall. "Dash itall----"

  "He will!" the girl thought breathlessly. And with her thought sheseemed to cast all of her heart into the spell....

  And then, quite suddenly, something happened whereby that spell wassnapped. Even as she thought "_he will_," he rose from his chair.

  He took a step to the entrance of their arbour, his shoulders blottingout the glowing light.

  "Listen," he said.

  And Gwenna, rising too, listened, breathlessly, angrily. He would_not_--she had been cheated. What was it that had--_interfered_?Presently she heard it, she heard what she would have taken for thenoise of another of the departing motors.

  Through the clatter from the last galop it was like, yet unlike, thenoise of a starting car. But there was in it an _angrier_ note thanthat.

  It is angry for want of any help but its own. A motor-car has solidearth against which to drive; a steamship has dense water. But theMachine that caused this noise was beating her metal thews againstinvisible air.

  It was an aeroplane.

  "Look!" said Paul Dampier.

  Far away over the still benighted land she rose, and into that glory ofAbyssinian gold beyond the river. Gwenna, moving out on to the path,watched the flight. Before, she had wondered that these soaring thingsdidn't come down. Now, she would have wondered if they had done so.

  Steady as if running on rails, the aeroplane came on overhead; her soundas she came now loud, now soft, but always angry, harsh--harshness likethat of a woman who lives to herself and her strivings, with nocomradeship of Earth on which to lean. Against the sky that was herplayground she showed as a slate-coloured dragonfly--a purple Empress ofthe Air soaring on and on into the growing dazzle of the day.

  "Oh, it _is_ beautiful, though," cried the girl on the path, looking up,and losing for that moment the angry sense that had fallen upon her ofpleasure past, of the end of the song. "It is wonderful."

  "Pooh, that old horse-bus," laughed Paul Dampier above her shoulder,and mentioned the names of the machine, the flyer in her. He could pickthem out of the note of her angry song.

  "That will be nothing to my P.D.Q.," he declared exultantly as theywalked on up the path towards the marquee. "You wait until I've got myaeroplane working! That'll be something new in aviation, you know.Nearest thing yet to the absolute identity of the Man with the Machine."

  He yawned a little with natural sleepiness, but his interest waswide-awake. He could have gone on until breakfast-time explaining somefresh point about his invention, while the girl in those littlesilver-heeled shoes paced slowly up the path beside him.... He was goingon.

  "Make all those other types, English or foreign, as clumsy as theold-fashioned bone-shake bicycle. Fact," he declared. "Now, take theTaube--Hullo----"

  "_Bitte_," said a voice.

  The German word came across a pile of plates deftly balanced upon ayoung man's forearm. That arm was clad in the sleeve of a trim whitejacket, buttoned over a thick and compact little chest. The waiter'shair was a short, upright golden stubble, and another little stubble ofgold sprouted upon his steady upper lip. He had come up, very softly,behind them.

  He spoke again in excellent English.

  "By your leave, sir."

  Dampier made way for him, and he passed. Gwenna, with a little shiver,looked after him. The sight of the young waiter whom she had noticed atthe beginning of the evening had given her an unreasonable littlechill.... Perhaps it was because his softly-moving, white figure againstthose willows had loomed so like a ghost....

  Dampier said, "Rotten job for a man, I always think, hanging about andpicking up things for other people like that."

  "Yes," said Gwenna, absently, sadly. It _was_ the end now. Quite theend. They'd got to go home. Back to everyday life. The Club, the Works.Nothing to live for, except--Ah, yes! His promise that he _would_ takeher flying, soon....

  Above in the glowing sky the aeroplane was dwindling--to disappear. Thewaiter, turning a corner of the dark shrubbery, had also disappeared asthey passed. From behind the shelter of the branches he was watching,watching....

  He was looking after Paul Dampier, the Airman--the inventor of thenewest aeroplane.