Page:Century Magazine v069 (centuryillustrat69holl).pdf/450
III
As the Scientist went up to his room he noted a rim of light from beneath two doors gleaming into the darkened hall, and he walked softly that he might not disturb any one or call attention to himself.
He need not have feared disturbing the occupants of the rooms, had he known, or calling attention to himself; for he was already very present to them. Behind the ray of light on the left, Henrietta was arranging her treasures for the night and thinking of the Schubert andante.
It was a low, rambling room, with gables jutting into it and dormer-windows jutting out from it, and it was devoted to Henrietta's enthusiasms. Branches of pine thrust into the angles gave out a breath of woods, and trailing vines ran along the windows and walls. On the table at the left were three miniature rabbits and a yellow china cat. The cat was very large and had a head that waggled when you touched it. Under the table was a dark-green alligator, stuffed, and on each side the mirror a Barye lion and a tiger confronted each other. The pictures on the walls were all of animals or of children or peasants. Groups of heavy-fetlocked horses and animals of the jungle hung side by side, and in stray corners tiny models of bears or dogs hid themselves.
The girl was putting away her pets for the night, removing them from their niches and putting them into a wool-lined basket that stood by her bed. She had always done this since she was a little girl, as she had always said her prayers. It had never occurred to her to omit either ceremony. She was putting the bear in place now, rubbing his shaggy fur and patting him gently. But she was not thinking of the bear. She was thinking of the andante and of the Scientist. The music had made her restless. It must have been the violin. Hal never played it that way. It was horrid, stirring people up—and spoiling the stars. She gave the bear a severe slap and reached out for the alligator, fingering his green scales with peremptory touches and coiling him swiftly inside the soft wool. Her forehead wore a little scowl. Why had he come, with his glasses and violin and his cigars? Who asked him to come? She gathered up a handful of rabbits and thrust them sharply into place. Did he think anybody wanted him? Ethelberta never played like that before. She rested her chin on her hand and gazed gloomily into the wool-lined basket. The yellow cat looked out at her with large, one-sided, dispassionate gaze till she clapped the cover on the basket and stood up, yawning. It was that stupid music. How it tagged her about! She raised her head with a swift breath and listened. It had begun again—down in the garden. She moved toward the window, a look of threatening in her eyes. They filled with a quick laugh.
"Cats!" she said softly. She blew out the light and kneeled down to say her prayers.
Under the door across the hall, Ethelberta's light still glowed, and, within, the room was a blaze of light. On each side the mirror and on the dressing-table were candles, and across the room a piano-lamp gave out a rosy haze. In the midst of the light stood Ethelberta, her dressing-gown falling in straight folds about her and her long hair sweeping to her knees. She was brushing it slowly, drawing the brush through its length, lifting it and letting it fall in a cloud about her face and neck. She smiled out of the soft haze to herself in the glass, a sleepy smile.
The room was full of sleepy touches. The bed-covers were turned back, and the white pillows were laid invitingly low. The draperies of the room were white, and the toilet-table gleamed with white and silver. Powder-boxes and combs, massage-brushes, tiny scissors, mirrors, and toilet-water invited one to bathe and sleep and dress. There were no books in the room, and no pictures. Mirrors reflected the light and reflected Ethelberta standing there with the sleepy smile in her eyes, brushing her long hair. He played divinely well—a little too fast in the tempo, but wonderfully and with such distinction. She had not known it went like that. She hummed the notes under her breath, lifting a wave of the hair and letting it drift slowly down and watching the light shimmer through it. Then she pushed it back from her forehead, and, raising her arms above her head, gave a sleepy yawn. She stretched in full enjoyment of it, her sleeves falling back to the shoulder and her arms rising from them, big and white and curved. After a moment they dropped slowly, and she went