|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 74
A breath of fragrance seemed to blow with her shifting senses. The dry,
sweet, tangy canyon smells returned to her--of fresh-cut timber, of wood
smoke, of the cabin fire with its steaming pots, of flowers and earth, and
of the wet stones, of the redolent pines and the pungent cedars.
And suddenly, clearly, amazingly, Carley beheld in her mind's sight the
hard features, the bold eyes, the slight smile, the coarse face of Haze
Ruff. She had forgotten him. But he now returned. And with memory of him
flashed a revelation as to his meaning in her life. He had appeared merely
a clout, a ruffian, an animal with man's shape and intelligence. But he was
the embodiment of the raw, crude violence of the West. He was the eyes of
the natural primitive man, believing what he saw. He had seen in Carley
Burch the paraded charm, the unashamed and serene front, the woman seeking
man. Haze Ruff had been neither vile nor base nor unnatural. It had been
her subjection to the decadence of feminine dress that had been unnatural.
But Ruff had found her a lie. She invited what she did not want. And his
scorn had been commensurate with the falsehood of her. So might any man
have been justified in his insult to her, in his rejection of her. Haze
Ruff had found her unfit for his idea of dalliance. Virgil Rust had found
her false to the ideals of womanhood for which he had sacrificed all but
life itself. What then had Glenn Kilbourne found her? He possessed the
greatness of noble love. He had loved her before the dark and changeful
tide of war had come between them. How had he judged her? That last sight
of him standing alone, leaning with head bowed, a solitary figure trenchant
with suggestion of tragic resignation and strength, returned to flay
Carley. He had loved, trusted, and hoped. She saw now what his hope had
been--that she would have instilled into her blood the subtle, red, and
revivifying essence of calling life in the open, the strength of the wives
of earlier years, an emanation from canyon, desert, mountain, forest, of
health, of spirit, of forward-gazing natural love, of the mysterious saving
instinct he had gotten out of the West. And she had been too little too
steeped in the indulgence of luxurious life too slight-natured and
pale-blooded! And suddenly there pierced into the black storm of Carley's
mind a blazing, white-streaked thought--she had left Glenn to the Western
girl, Flo Hutter. Humiliated, and abased in her own sight, Carley fell prey
to a fury of jealousy.
She went back to the old life. But it was in a bitter, restless, critical
spirit, conscious of the fact that she could derive neither forgetfulness
nor pleasure from it, nor see any release from the habit of years.
One afternoon, late in the fall, she motored out to a Long Island club
where the last of the season's golf was being enjoyed by some of her most
intimate friends. Carley did not play. Aimlessly she walked around the
grounds, finding the autumn colors subdued and drab, like her mind. The air
held a promise of early winter. She thought that she would go South before
the cold came. Always trying to escape anything rigorous, hard, painful, or
disagreeable! Later she returned to the clubhouse to find her party assembled
on an inclosed porch, chatting and partaking of refreshment. Morrison
was there. He had not taken kindly to her late habit of denying herself to
him.
During a lull in the idle conversation Morrison addressed Carley pointedly.
"Well, Carley, how's your Arizona hog-raiser?" he queried, with a little
gleam in his usually lusterless eyes.
"I have not heard lately," she replied, coldly.
The assembled company suddenly quieted with a portent inimical to their
leisurely content of the moment. Carley felt them all looking at her, and
underneath the exterior she preserved with extreme difficulty, there burned
so fierce an anger that she seemed to have swelling veins of fire.
"Queer how Kilbourne went into raising hogs," observed Morrison. "Such a
low-down sort of work, you know."
"He had no choice," replied Carley. "Glenn didn't have a father who made
tainted millions out of the war. He had to work. And I must differ with you
about its being low-down. No honest work is that. It is idleness that is
low down."
"But so foolish of Glenn when he might have married money," rejoined
Morrison, sarcastcally.
"The honor of soldiers is beyond your ken, Mr. Morrison."
He flushed darkly and bit his lip.
"You women make a man sick with this rot about soldiers," he said, the
gleam in his eye growing ugly. "A uniform goes to a woman's head no matter
what's inside it. I don't see where your vaunted honor of soldiers comes
in considering how they accepted the let-down of women during and after the
war."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|