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You see, you are never away. I have that ability; it came out of the other wreck. But you know about it from years back. Time has only managed a greater power. Lately, and I have nothing to do with it, I have been seeing you again as a girl; as young as at Markue's party; younger. Not more than ten. I don't mean that there is anything isn't the present fashionable word subliminal? esoteric.
There was a broken mental fantasy of of a leopard bearing a woman in shining hair. This was succeeded by a bright thrust of happiness and, all about her, a surging like the imagined beat of the wings of the Victory in Markue's room. Almost Pleydon had explained everything, almost he was everything; and then the other, putting him aside, had swept her back into the misery of doubt and loneliness.
He was dressed in light-gray flannels; a big easy man with a crushing palm, large features and an expression of intolerance. "Linda," he said, "what a splendid place to find you. So much better than Markue's." He was, she realized, very glad to see her, and dropped at once, as if they had been uninterruptedly together, into intimate talk.
Markue, in finally asking her to a party at his rooms, said that there she would resemble an Athenian marble, of the un-painted epoch, in the ballet of Scheherazade. "There's nothing special to say about Markue's parties," Judith, dressing, told Linda. "You will simply have to take what comes your way. There is always some one serious at them, if you insist, as usual, on dignity."
Pleydon was it at Markue's party or later? talking about "Homer's children" had meant the creations of great artists, in sound or color or words or form, through that supreme love unrealized in other life. The statue of Simon Downige, towering before her against the sky and above the sea, held in immutable bronze his conviction.
He was immediately aware of the result of her scrutiny. "I have been working like a fool," he explained. "A breath of sickness, too, four years ago in Soochow. One of the damnable Asiatic fevers that a European is supposed to be immune from. You are a miracle, Linda. How long has it been nearly eight years; you have two children and Arnaud Hallet and yet you are the girl I met at Markue's.
A difficult thought partly formed in her mind the Chinese was the god of this room, of Markue's party, of the women seated in the dim light on the floor and the divans; the low gurgle of their laughter, the dusky whiteness of their shoulders in the upcoiling incense, the smothered gleams of their hair, with the whispering men, were the world of the grayish-green image.
Her companion flooded his being with the frozen air. They had, it seemed, lost all desire to talk. The memory of Markue's party lingered like the last vanishing odor of his incense; there was a confused vision of the murmurous room against the lighted exterior where the drinks sparkled on a table. Linda made up her mind that she would not go to another.
Judith led the way directly into the elevator and designated Markue's floor. It was at the top of the building, where he met them with his impenetrable courtesy and took them into a bare room evidently planned for a studio.
I met a man last week, a friend of father's, who used to know her. Of course he wouldn't say anything, men are such idiots about that like ostriches with their pasts buried and all the feathers sticking out but there was a champagne expression in his smile." Linda wondered, later, if she'd care to go to a party of Markue's.
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