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At intervals, when they were left alone, Mariana wanted to open her heart, to tell the thoughts of her mind. She was so conscious of secret riches within herself, that sometimes it seemed, could she but reveal a glimpse of them to the eye of Sylvain, he would be attracted near her again, and take a path where they could walk hand in hand. Sylvain, in these intervals, wanted an indolent repose.
His thoughts strayed momentarily to Harriet, back again in her public orbit. He could imagine that she had found Harrisburg insuperably dull, the hours with only Cherette empty after the emotional debauches of the plays elected by Vivian Blane. Yes, this young Polder would stand admirably firm. Mariana frowned at the cobalt smoke of her cigarette. "I am in a very bad temper," she told them.
Mariana Blake, on her way home from Jake Preble's in the autumn twilight, heard women's voices sounding clearly at a distance, increasing in volume as they neared. She knew the turn of the road would hide her from them for a minute or two to come, and depending on that security she stepped over the wall and crouched behind the undergrowth at the foot of a wild cherry.
"Mariana," he demanded, "didn't the reorganization come about; isn't James Polder superintendent?" She hesitated, then replied in a low, steady voice. "Yes, Howat, it did; but they didn't move Jim up. An older, they said steadier, man was chosen." It was the oranges, he told himself, the oranges and brandy; the cursed young fool.
What he saw in her eyes he could not perhaps have told, but it suddenly quieted him to a surprised humility. "You goin' over to keep house for him?" he asked, with a motion of his head toward the cap'n, who seemed to be petitioning the god of domesticity lest his new hopes be confounded. "Yes," said Mariana, "but I ain't goin' unless he can get one or two more.
"And so would Tatiana," Mariana observed. "Why are people so devoted to him?" Nejdanov did not reply. "What sort of books did Pavel bring you?" Mariana asked. "Oh, nothing new. 'The Story of the Four Brothers, and then the ordinary, well-known ones, which are far better I think." Mariana looked around uneasily. "I wonder what has become of Tatiana? She promised to come early." "Here I am!"
The duke said, "Against all sense you importune her. Should Isabel kneel down to beg for mercy, her brother's ghost would break his paved bed, and take her hence in horror." Still Mariana said, "Isabel, sweet Isabel, do but kneel by me, hold up your hand, say nothing! I will speak all.
"If HE were in this room, then HE would have the right to demand..." But neither Mariana nor Nejdanov gave expression to this thought in words, perhaps because each was conscious what was in the other's mind. Mariana quietly wrapped the portrait up again in its paper and put it on the table. "What a good man he is!" she murmured. "I wonder where he is now?" "Why, at home of course.
A number of them Claribel, Lilian, Adeline, Isabel, Mariana, Madeline were sketches of women; not character portraits, like Browning's Men and Women, but impressions of temperament, of delicately differentiated types of feminine beauty.
Oh dear! It is difficult for an aesthetic creature like me to come in contact with real life." "Never mind. Better luck next time," Mariana said consolingly. "But I am glad you see the humorous side of this, your first attempt. You were not really bored, were you?" "No, it was rather amusing. But I know that I shall think it all over now and it will make me miserable."
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