The Dark Star

And Neeland knew that in her soul something had been born under his

very eyes--the first emotion of maturity bursting from the

chrysalis--the flaming consciousness of outrage, and the first, fierce

assumption of womanhood to resent it.

She had lost her colour now; her grey eyes still remained fixed on

his, but the golden tinge had left them.

"I don't know why you shouldn't go," he said abruptly.

"I am going."

"All right! And if he has the nerve to go--if he bothers you--appeal

to the captain."

She nodded absently.

"But I don't believe he'll try to sail. I don't believe he'd dare,

mixed up as he is in a dirty mess. He's afraid of the law, I tell you.

That's why he denied marrying you. It meant bigamy to admit it.

Anyway, I don't think a fake ceremony like that is binding; I mean

that it isn't even real enough to put him in jail. Which means that

you're not married, Rue."

"Does it?"

"I think so. Ask a lawyer, anyway. There may be steps to take--I don't

know. All the same--do you really want to go to France and study art?

Do you really mean to sail on this ship?"

"Yes."

"You feel confidence in yourself? You feel sure of yourself?"

"Yes."

"You've got the backbone to see it through?"

"Yes. It's got to be done."

"All right, if you feel that way." He made no move, however, but sat

there watching her. After a while he looked at his watch again: "I'm going to ring up a taxi," he said. "You might as well go on board

and get some sleep. What time does she sail?"

"At five thirty, I believe."

"Well, we haven't so very long, then. There's my bedroom--if you want

to fix up."

She rose wearily.

When she emerged from his room with her hat and gloves on, the taxicab

was audible in the street below.

Together they descended the dark stairway up which she had toiled with

trembling knees. He carried her suitcase, aided her into the taxi.

"Cunard Line," he said briefly, and entered the cab.

Already in the darkness of early morning the city was awake; workmen

were abroad; lighted tramcars passed with passengers; great wains,

trucks, and country wagons moved slowly toward markets and ferries.

He had begun to tell her almost immediately all that he knew about

Paris, the life there in the students' quarters, methods of living

economically, what to seek and what to avoid--a homily rather hurried

and condensed, as they sped toward the pier.