Through stained glass
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CHAPTER XXXIV
Mlle. Folly Delaires was not born within a stone's throw of the Parisfortifications, as her manager would have liked you to believe, but inan indefinite street in Cockneydom, so like its mates that, in the wordsof Folly herself, she had to have the homing instinct of a pigeon tofind it at all. Folly's original name had been--but why give it away?She was one of those women who are above and beyond a name--of a class,or, rather, of a type that a relatively merciful world producessparingly. She was all body and no soul.
From the moment that Lewis kissed Folly, and then kissed her severaltimes more, discovering with each essay depths in the art which even hisfree and easy life had never given him occasion to dream of, he becameinfatuated--so infatuated that the following dialogue passed over himand did not wake him.
"Why are you crying?" asked Lewis, whom tears had never before madecurious.
"I'm crying," gasped Folly, stamping her little foot, "because it'staken so _long_!"
Lewis looked down at her brown head, buried against his shoulder, andasked dreamily:
"Are you spirit and flower, libertine and saint?"
To which Folly replied: "Well, I was the flower-girl once in a greathit, and I played 'The Nun' last season, you remember. As for spirits, Ihad the refusal of one of the spirit parts in the first "Blue Bird"show, but there were too many of them, so I turned it down. I'd havefelt as though I'd gone back to the chorus. Libertine," she musedfinally--"what _is_ a libertine?"
Lewis's father could have looked at Folly from across the street andgiven her a very complete and charming definition for a libertine in oneword. But Lewis had not yet reached that wisdom which tells us that manlearns to know himself last of all. He did not realize that yourtrue-born libertine never knows it. Whatever Folly's life may have been,and he thought he had no illusions on that score, he seized upon herquestion as proving that she still held the potential bloom of youth anda measure of innocence.
To do her justice, Folly was young, and also she had asked her questionin good faith. As to innocence--well, what has never consciouslyexisted, causes no lack. Folly's little world was exceedingly broad inone way and as narrow in another, but, like few human worlds, itcontained a miracle. The miracle was that it absolutely satisfied her.She dated happiness, content, and birth itself from the day she wentwrong.
She had the appearance of being frank, open, and lovable, just as shehad that appearance of culture which every woman of her type gets fromthe cultivated class of men they prey upon. Pet her, and she murmuredsoftly in the king's best English: scratch her, and, like the rock thatMoses struck, she burst forth in a surprising torrent. Without makingothers merry, she was eternally merry. Without ever feeling the agony ofthirst, she instilled thirst. A thousand broken-hearted women might havelooked on her as an avenging sword, if the sword hadn't been two-edged.She had a motto, a creed, a philosophy, packed into four words: "Beloved; never love."
If both parts of this creed had not been equally imperative, Lewis mighthave escaped. His aloofness was what doomed him. Like all big-gamehunters, Folly loved the rare trophy, the thing that's hard to get. Bykeeping his distance, Lewis pressed the spring that threw her intoaction. Almost instinctively she concentrated on him all her forces ofattraction, and Folly's forces of attraction, once you pressed thespring, were simply dynamic. Beneath that soft, breathing skin of herswas such store of vitality, intensity, and singleness of purpose as onlythe vividly monochromatic ever bring to bear on life.
Lewis, unconsciously in very deep waters indeed, reached London in astate of ineffable happiness. Not so Folly. Lewis had awakened in herdesire. With her, desire was merely the prelude to a naturalconsummation. Folly was worried because one of the first and last thingsLewis had said to her was, "Darling, when will you marry me?" To whichshe had replied, but without avail, "Let's think about that afterward."
When Lewis reached the flat on a Saturday night, he did not have to tellhis father that something wonderful had happened. Leighton saw it in hisface--a face suddenly become more boyish than it had ever been before.They rushed feverishly through dinner, for Lewis's mood was contagious.Then they went into the living-room, and straight for the two bigleather chairs which, had they lacked that necessary measure ofdiscretion which Nelton had assigned to them, might have told of many abattle of the mind with the things that are.
"Well, Boy," said Leighton, "what is it?"
"Dad," cried Lewis, with beaming face, "I've found the woman--theall-embracing woman."
Leighton's mind wandered back to the tales of Lewis's little palNatalie.
"Tell me about her--again," he said genially.
"Again!" cried Lewis. "But you've never heard of her--not from me,anyway."
"What's her name?" asked Leighton, half aroused.
"Her name," said Lewis, smiling absently into the fire, "is Folly--FollyDelaires."
Leighton was a trained stalker of dangerous game. Surprise neverstartled him into movement. It stilled him. Old Ivory had once said ofhim that he could make his heart stop beating at the smell of elephant;which is quite a different thing from having your heart stop beating onits own hook. When Lewis said, "Folly--Folly Delaires," Leightonsuddenly became intensely still. He remained still for so long thatLewis looked up.
"Well, Dad, what Is it?" he asked, still smiling. "Have you heard ofher?"
"Yes," said Leighton, quietly, "I've heard of her. I've even seen her.She's a beautiful--she has a beautiful body. Tell me just how ithappened."
Then Lewis talked, and Leighton appeared to listen. He knew all thestages of that _via dolorosa_ too well to have to pay close attention toLewis's description, of the first emotional step of man toward man'ssurest tribulation.
There was no outburst from Leighton when Lewis finished. On thecontrary, he made an effort to hide his thoughts, and succeeded so wellthat, had it not been for a touch of bitterness in his smile, Lewismight have been led to think that with this active calm his father wouldhave received the announcement of his son's choice of any woman.
"Dad," said Lewis, troubled, "why do you smile like that?"
"I am smiling," said Leighton, "at the tragedy of philanthropy. Any mancan get; it takes a genius to give. There are things I've got that I'dlike to give you now--on the eve of your greatest trouble." Lewis threwup his head in amazement. He would have protested but, with ahalf-raised hand, Leighton stilled him. "No," he went on, "I don'texpect you to acquire prescience all in a moment, nor do I expect myselfto acquire the genius of giving to a sudden need in half an hour. Let'slet things stand this way. You love Folly Delaires; I don't. I don'twant to be converted, and you don't. But one of us has simply got to be,because--well--because I like to think we've lived too long together inspirit to take to two sides of a fence now."
Lewis felt a sudden depression fall on him, all the more terible for theexaltation that had preceded it.
"Two sides of a fence, Dad?" he said. "That can never be. I--I've justgot to convert you. When you know her, she'll help me."
The two rose to their feet on a common impulse. Leighton laid his handon Lewis's shoulder.
"Boy," he said, "forgive me for making your very words my own. I have noillusions as to the power of woman. She is at once the supreme source ofhappiness and of poignant suffering. You think your woman will help you;I think she'll help me. That neutralizes her a bit, doesn't it? Itreduces our battle to the terms of single combat--unless one of us isright about Folly."
"But, Dad," stammered Lewis, "I don't _want_ a battle."
Leighton pressed his hand down. Unconsciously Lewis straightened underthe pressure.
"Listen to this," said Leighton. "The battles of life aren't served uplike the courses at a dinner that you can skip at will. In life we haveto fight. Mostly we have to fight people we love for things we lovebetter. Sometimes we fight them for the very love we bear them. You andI are going to fight each other because we can't help it. Let's fightlike gentlemen--to the finish--and smile. My boy, you don't know
Folly."
"It's you who don't know Folly, Dad," said Lewis, He tried to smile, buthis lips twitched treacherously. Not since Leighton had gambled withhim, and won all he possessed, had such a blow been dealt to his faith.