On the morning of that day she announced to him that it would be her last day at Les Pins.
"What? Going?" he cried aghast, as if the idea that she must one day go had never occurred to him.
"Why, yes! I"d never meant to stay here at all. It was just because of father, and now he cables me he"ll be back in London before I shall."
"Well, but I say!" Jack Awdas broke in in consternation. "Shan"t I see you any more?" It seemed unspeakable.
"Didn"t you tell me you were coming back to London at the end of the fall, to a Board or something? My father would be pleased if you came and saw us then."
"But that"s not for ages!" he cried, his face blank. "I"m not due back in town for another month! When are you going? Tonight? Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow morning early, to Bordeaux; then on to Paris, then London."
"All by yourself?" exclaimed the young Englishman stupefied.
She laughed. "Why, certainly, "all by myself." That"s funny! Why, I"ve made all the travelling arrangements for father and myself since I was twelve! I"m a lot more useful than he is, that way. I"ve been most all over the world. "All by myself." Why, yes! You"re shocked? Now isn"t that real old-fashioned, and English? It"s the way they talk in those novels with the sweet little heroine in book-muslin, whatever that is, in the days of Queen Victoria. Haven"t you got past that, in this War?
If you haven"t it"s time America did come in and teach you a few things!
I guess I"m as capable as you are of looking after myself, Bird-boy!"
"You certainly aren"t," he declared resolutely. "I shouldn"t let you, if--if I were anything to do with you." He pulled himself together and added, "Well, there"s all today, anyhow. Look here, can"t you let me take you somewhere jolly all by myself, just for today?"
He could never have made this suggestion to a young woman of the traditions and upbringing of, say Miss Agatha Walsh. But already he knew that SHE would take it as it was meant.
"Why, yes, if you like," she said.
So they"d gone off to Cap Ferret. Midday had found this tall girl and boy upon Biscay sh.o.r.e where four days before Mrs. Cartwright"s dove-lunch party had walked, watching those rollers. Soaring to crash, gathering and soaring once again to crash, those great waves boomed the chorus that had sounded across wide sea and wide sh.o.r.e long "before the months had names." It would go on sounding long after the names of those two on the seash.o.r.e had ceased to be music to those who loved them.
But this was the moment when the waves sang for them, only for them.
Golden van Huysen had said something about surf-riding. The young aviator, his eyes turning for a moment from her to the tumultuous waters, had muttered, "Dangerous game for a girl!"
She laughed. "What a lot of things there are that you English think a girl can"t do! It would do you lots of good to get to know some American girls. Then you"d see!"
He made no reply. His eyes were again upon her.
She wore what he had come to know were (out of uniform) her only colours; white and gold. Her dress of some creamy white stuff, perfectly cut, and over it she had slipped a knitted coat of yellowy silk. Crisp as a gardenia-petal, her skirt blew out above her ankles, and her feet, not small, but shapely as those of a sandalled Hermes. No hat hid her hair, which glinted like a casque in the sun as they turned away from the sea towards the dunes.
Here Jack Awdas took the plunge.
"See some American girls, you say? You"re all the girl I want to see,"
he declared, not knowing that he spoke with the boyish vehemence that had so lately taken Claudia Cartwright"s breath. The persistence with which he"d wooed that first love he now turned upon this--this only love of his.
"You"re all the girls in the world to me," said he. "D"you understand?"
She did, and she did not. She stared at him: her uncovered gold head almost on a level with his own fair head, crested by that flyer"s cap.
"Yes, rather!" continued the lad, definitely. "Now, what about it?"
He held out a hand to help her up the dunes, but she climbed as lightly as he.
"What about it, please?" he repeated. "What about your belonging to me for keeps, I mean?"
The girl had a curious little gesture as she looked at him, then away.
Surprise was in it, and protest, and a virginal dignity; also amus.e.m.e.nt, unpreparedness, and wonder....
She repeated his words. ""Belong" to you? To you? Oh! No, I----"
"Don"t you like me?" he shot out.
"Oh! I like you very well," she answered quickly, almost hurt herself by the thought that she might have hurt him. "I like you so well! I like to be with you. I like to talk to you. I--yes, I like to look at you," and she turned one of her frank and friendly glances upon that handsome figure striding by her side, that fresh face, all pink in the sea-breezes. "But I guess I"d never want to "belong" to any man!"
He smiled into the sweet bewildered eyes. It was the smiling side of his obstinacy; obstinate and keen again, in love as in war!
"I say----How old are you?" he asked.
"Twenty-one," she told him.
"Well, then! You don"t mind my asking, do you? Hasn"t any man ever wanted you to belong to him before?"
"You mean asked me to marry them?"
"Yes."
"Why, yes," she admitted with her crystal straightness. "Men, proposed to me? Why, stacks of them! But they didn"t do it that way."
She looked back and out to sea, as though she could see on the other side of that severing Atlantic the half-score of her splendid young countrymen who had offered her marriage as tribute is offered to a young queen.
"You are--queer people over here," she said softly.
"Queer?"
"The way you talk of "belonging.""
"Queer, if it"s the right man and the girl he wants?" Jack Awdas asked.
"But," she said, sweet and stately, "I should always want to belong to myself."
Then he understood. He said quickly, "Of course I"d always want that for you, too. But--oh, look here! Would the other stop that? As I see it, it might help it."
The puzzled wonder grew in her look. All this was strange to her; she had read of it, heard of it. All this was unexpectedly different from books, from college, from life until now. The old was so unexplored to the new, embodied in its modern Diana. At twenty she had seen half the capitals of two hemispheres, yet she was in his eyes more backward in some ways than a girl who had never left her native village.
Mrs. Cartwright could have told her that it is by "belonging" that a woman forms her individuality, and that it is only by giving that she can either gain or keep what she has.
He went on softly talking. Presently he said, "I know now what people mean by being made for each other. You were, for me. Yes, but I was for you. Oh, yes. Oh, yes!... You can"t tell me you honestly don"t think so.... You don"t want to send me away; you don"t want not to see me again."
"Oh, _no_," she agreed, quickly, looking away from him as if to face a situation. She was of the type that faces, losing no time in wondering what she ought to think. And this was the very first time she had ever wondered _what_ she thought.