The most patient man in the
world is prone to impatience
in love-- and Sheldon was in
love. He called himself an ass
a score of times a day, and strove
to contain himself by directing
his mind in other channels, but
more than a score of times each
day his thoughts roved back and
dwelt on Joan. It was a pretty
problem she presented, and he
was continually debating with
himself as to what was the best
way to approach her.
He was not an adept at love-making.
He had had but one experience
in the gentle art (in which he
had been more wooed than wooing),
and the affair had profited him
little. This was another affair,
and he assured himself continually
that it was a uniquely different
and difficult affair. Not only
was here a woman who was not
bent on finding a husband, but
it was a woman who wasn't a woman
at all; who was genuinely appalled
by the thought of a husband;
who joyed in boys' games, and
sentimentalized over such things
as adventure; who was healthy
and normal and wholesome, and
who was so immature that a husband
stood for nothing more than an
encumbrance in her cherished
scheme of existence.
But how to approach her? He
divined the fanatical love of
freedom in her, the deep-seated
antipathy for restraint of any
sort. No man could ever put his
arm around her and win her. She
would flutter away like a frightened
bird. Approach by contact--that,
he realized, was the one thing
he must never do. His hand-clasp
must be what it had always been,
the hand-clasp of hearty friendship
and nothing more. Never by action
must he advertise his feeling
for her. Remained speech. But
what speech? Appeal to her love?
But she did not love him. Appeal
to her brain? But it was apparently
a boy's brain. All the deliciousness
and fineness of a finely bred
woman was hers; but, for all
he could discern, her mental
processes were sexless and boyish.
And yet speech it must be, for
a beginning had to be made somewhere,
some time; her mind must be made
accustomed to the idea, her thoughts
turned upon the matter of marriage.
And so he rode overseeing about
the plantation, with tightly
drawn and puckered brows, puzzling
over the problem, and steeling
himself to the first attempt.
A dozen ways he planned an intricate
leading up to the first breaking
of the ice, and each time some
link in the chain snapped and
the talk went off on unexpected
and irrelevant lines. And then
one morning, quite fortuitously,
the opportunity came.
"My dearest wish is the success
of Berande," Joan had just said,
apropos of a discussion about
the cheapening of freights on
copra to market.
"Do you mind if I tell you
the dearest wish of my heart?" he
promptly returned. "I long for
it. I dream about it. It is my
dearest desire."
He paused and looked at her
with intent significance; but
it was plain to him that she
thought there was nothing more
at issue than mutual confidences
about things in general.
"Yes, go ahead," she
said, a trifle impatient at
his delay.
"I love to think of the success
of Berande," he said; "but that
is secondary. It is subordinate
to the dearest wish, which is
that some day you will share
Berande with me in a completer
way than that of mere business
partnership. It is for you, some
day, when you are ready, to be
my wife."
She started back from him as
if she had been stung. Her face
went white on the instant, not
from maidenly embarrassment,
but from the anger which he could
see flaming in her eyes.
"This taking for granted!--this
when I am ready!" she cried passionately.
Then her voice swiftly became
cold and steady, and she talked
in the way he imagined she must
have talked business with Morgan
and Raff at Guvutu. "Listen to
me, Mr. Sheldon. I like you very
well, though you are slow and
a muddler; but I want you to
understand, once and for all,
that I did not come to the Solomons
to get married. That is an affliction
I could have accumulated at home,
without sailing ten thousand
miles after it. I have my own
way to make in the world, and
I came to the Solomons to do
it. Getting married is not making
MY way in the world. It may do
for some women, but not for me,
thank you. When I sit down to
talk over the freight on copra,
I don't care to have proposals
of marriage sandwiched in. Besides--besides--"
Her voice broke for the moment,
and when she went on there was
a note of appeal in it that well-nigh
convicted him to himself of being
a brute.
"Don't you
see?--it spoils everything;
it makes the whole
situation impossible . . . and
. . . and I so loved our partnership,
and was proud of it. Don't you
see?--I can't go on being your
partner if you make love to me.
And I was so happy."
Tears of disappointment were
in her eyes, and she caught a
swift sob in her throat.
"I warned you," he said gravely. "Such
unusual situations between men
and women cannot endure. I told
you so at the beginning."
"Oh, yes; it is quite clear
to me what you did." She was
angry again, and the feminine
appeal had disappeared. "You
were very discreet in your warning.
You took good care to warn me
against every other man in the
Solomons except yourself."
It was a blow in the face to
Sheldon. He smarted with the
truth of it, and at the same
time he smarted with what he
was convinced was the injustice
of it. A gleam of triumph that
flickered in her eye because
of the hit she had made decided
him.
"It is not so one-sided as
you seem to think it is," he
began. "I was doing very nicely
on Berande before you came. At
least I was not suffering indignities,
such as being accused of cowardly
conduct, as you have just accused
me. Remember--please remember,
I did not invite you to Berande.
Nor did I invite you to stay
on at Berande. It was by staying
that you brought about this--to
you-- unpleasant situation. By
staying you made yourself a temptation,
and now you would blame me for
it. I did not want you to stay.
I wasn't in love with you then.
I wanted you to go to Sydney;
to go back to Hawaii. But you
insisted on staying. You virtually--"
He paused for a softer word
than the one that had risen to
his lips, and she took it away
from him.
"Forced myself on you--that's
what you meant to say," she cried,
the flags of battle painting
her cheeks. "Go ahead. Don't
mind my feelings."
"All right; I won't," he said
decisively, realizing that the
discussion was in danger of becoming
a vituperative, schoolboy argument. "You
have insisted on being considered
as a man. Consistency would demand
that you talk like a man, and
like a man listen to man-talk.
And listen you shall. It is not
your fault that this unpleasantness
has arisen. I do not blame you
for anything; remember that.
And for the same reason you should
not blame me for anything."
He noticed her bosom heaving
as she sat with clenched hands,
and it was all he could do to
conquer the desire to flash his
arms out and around her instead
of going on with his coolly planned
campaign. As it was, he nearly
told her that she was a most
adorable boy. But he checked
all such wayward fancies, and
held himself rigidly down to
his disquisition.
"You can't
help being yourself. You can't
help being a very desirable
creature so far as I am concerned.
You have made me want you. You
didn't intend to; you didn't
try to. You were so made, that
is all. And I was so made that
I was ripe to want you. But I
can't help being myself. I can't
by an effort of will cease from
wanting you, any more than you
by an effort of will can make
yourself undesirable to me."
"Oh, this desire! this want!
want! want!" she broke in rebelliously. "I
am not quite a fool. I understand
some things. And the whole thing
is so foolish and absurd--and
uncomfortable. I wish I could
get away from it. I really think
it would be a good idea for me
to marry Noa Noah, or Adamu Adam,
or Lalaperu there, or any black
boy. Then I could give him orders,
and keep him penned away from
me; and men like you would leave
me alone, and not talk marriage
and 'I want, I want.'"
Sheldon laughed in spite of
himself, and far from any genuine
impulse to laugh.
"You are positively soulless," he
said savagely.
"Because I've a soul that doesn't
yearn for a man for master?" she
took up the gage. "Very well,
then. I am soulless, and what
are you going to do about it?"
"I am going
to ask you why you look like
a woman? Why have
you the form of a woman? the
lips of a woman? the wonderful
hair of a woman? And I am going
to answer: because you are a
woman--though the woman in you
is asleep--and that some day
the woman will wake up."
"Heaven forbid!" she
cried, in such sudden and genuine
dismay
as to make him laugh, and to
bring a smile to her own lips
against herself.
"I've got some more to say
to you," Sheldon pursued. "I
did try to protect you from every
other man in the Solomons, and
from yourself as well. As for
me, I didn't dream that danger
lay in that quarter. So I failed
to protect you from myself. I
failed to protect you at all.
You went your own wilful way,
just as though I didn't exist--wrecking
schooners, recruiting on Malaita,
and sailing schooners; one lone,
unprotected girl in the company
of some of the worst scoundrels
in the Solomons. Fowler! and
Brahms! and Curtis! And such
is the perverseness of human
nature--I am frank, you see--I
love you for that too. I love
you for all of you, just as you
are."
She made a moue of distaste
and raised a hand protestingly.
"Don't," he said. "You
have no right to recoil from
the mention
of my love for you. Remember
this is a man-talk. From the
point of view of the talk, you
are a man. The woman in you is
only incidental, accidental,
and irrelevant. You've got to
listen to the bald statement
of fact, strange though it is,
that I love you."
"And now I
won't bother you any more about
love. We'll go
on the same as before. You are
better off and safer on Berande,
in spite of the fact that I love
you, than anywhere else in the
Solomons. But I want you, as
a final item of man-talk, to
remember, from time to time,
that I love you, and that it
will be the dearest day of my
life when you consent to marry
me. I want you to think of it
sometimes. You can't help but
think of it sometimes. And now
we won't talk about it any more.
As between men, there's my hand."
He held out his hand. She hesitated,
then gripped it heartily, and
smiled through her tears.
"I wish--" she faltered, "I
wish, instead of that black Mary,
you'd given me somebody to swear
for me."
And with this enigmatic utterance
she turned away.
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