Free The Goddess Abides: A Novel by Pearl S. Buck

of this and some universities are creating departments of bio-medical engineering. But that’s a neither-fish-nor-fowl sort of thing so far, in my opinion, only creating men for jobs that won’t exist after a few years. I have a different approach to such interdisciplinary activity and that’s what I wanted to talk to this fellow about. He’s a pioneer in the field. I wish your father were alive. He’d be the one I’d be seeing first.”
    “He’d like you,” she said.
    “And I’d have worshipped at his feet! There’s no mind alive today that equals his. Why do the great ones die young?”
    “Trying to save the world,” she replied. “He was on his way to Japan, to help the Japanese rebuild the cyclotron we destroyed during the world war.”
    “I know. I read about it,” he said.
    There was a knock at the door and Weston appeared with a tall mug of steaming liquid.
    “Toddy, sir,” he said in his high old voice.
    “Thanks,” Jared said, and taking the glass he sipped its contents. “Ah, that’s good. It goes straight into my bones.”
    “Yes, sir. Good night, sir. Good night, madame. Everything is in order.”
    “Thank you, Weston, and good night.”
    The door closed behind him and they were silent. Jared sipped the toddy, his mind absent, as she could see, and she did not try again to recall him. She sat quietly looking at him while he gazed into the fire, sipping until the mug was empty. Then he set it down and turned to her apologetically.
    “Forgive me. I’m not a good guest tonight. When I have a problem on my mind—”
    She interrupted him. “But I understand. I shouldn’t like you to feel as though you had to entertain me. I was thinking, myself.”
    “Of what?”
    Impossible to say the truth—“Of you!” She was too shy for that bold truth. She spoke lightly and rose from the chair.
    “I was thinking you should go to your bed and sleep away your cold. Your room is the first door on the right, at the head of the stairs. If you find you need anything in the night, press the button, on the telephone that says W. It connects with Weston’s room.”
    “What a palace,” he said. He had risen when she rose and now he stood tall above her, and looked down upon her, smiling, and she looked up at him, uncertain of what was next. It was he who decided, abruptly and frankly.
    “Do you mind if I kiss you?”
    She shook her head, but was speechless, helpless in absurd shyness. A kiss was meaningless, a kiss was nothing nowadays, a kiss could be no more than a casual gift to one’s hostess. Ah, but it took two, one to give; one to receive! She felt his lips on her right cheek, and then lightly, very lightly, he turned her head with his two palms, and she felt his lips upon hers, a quick brush of warmth.
    “Good night,” he said. “What time is breakfast?”
    “Whenever you like,” she said, as casually as though there had not been this kiss which lay upon her lips a living coal.
    “When do you breakfast?” he demanded at the door.
    “At nine o’clock.”
    “Good heavens, what a lie-abed!”
    He pretended to be shocked and she laughed.
    “Good night,” she called as he mounted the stairs. “Sleep well in that room! It was mine when I was a girl.”
    She was sleepless for hours that night, and when she woke it was nearly ten o’clock the next morning. Her first thought was of him and she rang the kitchen. Weston answered.
    “Has Mr. Barnow breakfasted?” she asked.
    “Yes, madame, at eight o’clock sharp and left immediately, begging your pardon. He wrote you a note, madame—I put it on the breakfast table for you.”
    She hung up, blaming herself. How could she have slept away the last hour of his presence? She made haste to shower and dress and, taking her seat at the table in the sunny breakfast room, she found his note under her plate.
    “I am sorry to leave in this discourteous fashion, but I had an early call from the man I came to see. I am to meet him at nine o’clock