Free Ducdame by John Cowper Powys

something pathetic and childish to a woman in a man’s physical desire. To the man’s own consciousness he may appear a veritable devil. To his would-be victim he is much more like a greedy infant.
    Nell Hastings was not conscious at that moment of the least quiver of moral indignation. She just lifted her chin from her hand, pulled up her feet under her in the big chair and looked straight back at him with an understanding smile; a smile of more direct girlish happiness than had crossed her face for many a long month!
    In the simple glow of finding herself desired by a man she respected, the nameless horror she had run away from receded and receded. What made Lexie’s embarrassed overture the more touching was the very fact of his illness. He stirred something within her that had never been stirred before, her inborn protective instinct. She felt toward him what a lover of woods might feel who comes upon a rugged sturdy tree marked with a great staring notch and a chalk number. The last thing she had expected was that Lexie, as well as his mysterious brother, should look at her like that. Of course, it was different from what Rook made her feel. That was a thing by itself. She had not decided yet what that was. But she was far too grateful to poor dear Lexie for wanting her at all, and he so stricken and threatened, tofuss herself much as to how this situation dovetailed in with the other.
    “Poor little Nell! Poor little Nell!” He had taken both her wrists now in one of his hands and had put the other lightly on her shoulder.
    What she meant to do was to laugh affectionately and snatch her hands away, but instead of doing that she found herself standing by his side. Had he pulled her out of the chair or had she, to release herself from him, slipped out of it herself?
    “Don’t do that! No! No! Don’t do that!” Her voice sounded calm and sensible enough, but what was the use of a calm voice when she was already in his arms and yielding to his agitated caresses?
    Her mind raced about in all sorts of funny directions while she submitted to his love-making. She caught sight, over his shoulder, of a row of books entitled “Mermaid Classics” and she wondered what the girls in those books did when people took them in their arms. She found herself listening to see if she could hear Mrs. Bellamy moving about in the house. Then, in the midst of her feeble movements of resistance , she caught sight of a little bust of Voltaire on the mantelpiece. How benignly that malicious old man was watching her!
    Suddenly she drew away from him and shook off his hands.
    “Please don’t, Lexie! I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want it.”
    His face looked haggard as she pushed him back and she felt a wave of dangerous pity for him. How could he know that she had brought it to an end not because of indifference but because of the opposite of indifference? It was all right as long as she was a passive rag doll in his hands; but if she began to come to life—it wouldn’t do.
    In a moment she became stiff as a block of wood; and though she still smiled at him and displayed no shadow ofanger against him, he felt that, for that day at least, he must be just the friend again, just the kind, disinterested friend.
    They both moved to the window and looked out.
    “Damn these niceties and nuances!” he said to himself. “She’s in love with Rook and thinks it wrong to care for both of us. Yet she does care for both of us. Oh, when will human beings put all this business on a simple natural earthy basis?”
    The look of the pools in the road reflecting the pale, chilly sunlight brought the girl’s mind back to her immediate trouble.
    “What am I to do now, Lexie?” she whispered. “It must be nearly time for his meal. He’ll wonder where I am. He has to go to see Mrs. Drool this afternoon.” She stopped and shivered. “I can’t imagine what he says to these people or what he does. Think of seeing him sitting on a