Dorothy Eden Read Online Free PDF Page A

famous Mr. Biggar. But I am devoted to the theatre, Mrs. O’Shea. I am looking forward to it immensely.”
    Katharine scarcely realised her deliberate choice of a chair in a dark corner of the box until Mr. Parnell sat beside her. With the lights turned down and the other members of the party leaning forward to watch the stage, she had the illusion that they were completely alone. She had wanted this. Her heart was beating quickly. She tried to pay attention to the show, but the man beside her seemed much more in her line of vision. She kept glancing sideways at him sitting relaxed, his hands folded in his lap. She had thought her glances unnoticed until she encountered one of his, bent on her in quiet scrutiny. She gave a half-smile and it was returned. There was an extraordinary exciting intimacy about this exchange of glances in the dark theatre box.
    When the lights went up for the first interval, Anna and the others proposed refreshments in the bar. Katharine said she was a little fatigued, she thought she would remain where she was, and, as she had known would happen, Mr. Parnell instantly said that he would keep her company.
    They were alone.
    “I have kept your rose, Mrs. O’Shea.”
    “Mr. Parnell—do you always attack subjects so directly?” She was laughing. Then she said in a low voice, “Why?”
    “Because it reminds me of you.”
    “You are a flatterer as well.”
    “As well as what?”
    “You are not married, Mr. Parnell. Everyone says you love your country so much that you have no time for more frivolous interests such as parties and women.”
    “If you hadn’t said that so seriously I would believe you were making fun of me. Am I not here this evening?”
    She laughed. “But I shamed you into it.”
    “No one could shame me into anything. Believe me.” His eyes glowed in his pale face. She was aware again of the quiet intensity that pervaded him. She imagined that he brought it to everything he did, every subject he discussed. He must have nerves of steel, or he would wreck his health by his ardent way of living. It had been an irrelevance to think that a man like this could give all his emotions to a country. He must be highly aware of women—as indeed she knew he was at this moment. Her skin tingled. If he were to put all his intensity into being a lover …
    “I’m glad you came,” she said quickly, casually. It was better to make conversation, even provocative conversation, than to indulge in these thoughts.
    He made no answer to that beyond giving her that quiet curiously intimate caressing smile.
    Then he said without any preamble whatever, “I imagined myself for a while to be in love with a young lady in America. But then she gave me a verse of poetry, carefully written out, and asked me to read it, and I knew that if she expected me to live up to all it said, I would disappoint her cruelly. So we said good-bye.”
    “What was the poem?”
    “Shall I recite it to you?”
    “Please.”
    He did so, in an undertone that yet did not take the eloquence out of his voice:
    “ Unless you can muse in a crowd all day
    On the absent face that fixed you:
    Unless you can dream that his faith is fast
    Through behoving and unbehoving;
    Unless you can die when the dream is past,
    Oh, never call it loving. ”
    “I think that’s Elizabeth Barrett Browning,” Katharine said after a moment.
    “Yes, I believe so.”
    “One would need to be very dedicated to the object of one’s love to do all that.” Katharine thought of Willie and her lips twisted wryly.
    “It could be possible for a few people.”
    “A very few.”
    “You look too sceptical, Mrs. O’Shea, for a young and beautiful woman. Surely you still have illusions?”
    The bell had rung and people were beginning to come back to their seats. Katharine was glad of the interruption. They had advanced dangerously far in such a short conversation. She was frightened and highly elated at the same time. What was happening couldn’t be