The supper at the White Springs Hotel had not been the last supper Carlotta

Harrison and Max Wilson had taken together. Carlotta had selected for her

vacation a small town within easy motoring distance of the city, and two or

three times during her two weeks off duty Wilson had gone out to see her.

He liked being with her. She stimulated him. For once that he could see

Sidney, he saw Carlotta twice.

She had kept the affair well in hand. She was playing for high stakes.

She knew quite well the kind of man with whom she was dealing--that he

would pay as little as possible. But she knew, too, that, let him want a

thing enough, he would pay any price for it, even marriage.

She was very skillful. The very ardor in her face was in her favor.

Behind her hot eyes lurked cold calculation. She would put the thing

through, and show those puling nurses, with their pious eyes and evening

prayers, a thing or two.

During that entire vacation he never saw her in anything more elaborate

than the simplest of white dresses modestly open at the throat, sleeves

rolled up to show her satiny arms. There were no other boarders at the

little farmhouse. She sat for hours in the summer evenings in the square

yard filled with apple trees that bordered the highway, carefully posed

over a book, but with her keen eyes always on the road. She read Browning,

Emerson, Swinburne. Once he found her with a book that she hastily

concealed. He insisted on seeing it, and secured it. It was a book on

brain surgery. Confronted with it, she blushed and dropped her eyes.

His delighted vanity found in it the most insidious of compliments, as she

had intended.

"I feel such an idiot when I am with you," she said. "I wanted to know a

little more about the things you do."

That put their relationship on a new and advanced basis. Thereafter he

occasionally talked surgery instead of sentiment. He found her responsive,

intelligent. His work, a sealed book to his women before, lay open to her.

Now and then their professional discussions ended in something different.

The two lines of their interest converged.

"Gad!" he said one day. "I look forward to these evenings. I can talk

shop with you without either shocking or nauseating you. You are the most

intelligent woman I know--and one of the prettiest."

He had stopped the machine on the crest of a hill for the ostensible

purpose of admiring the view.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024