One day, after many exchanges of glances in which her own always fell sharply--in the midst of a letter--he arose and closed the half-open door. She did not think so much of that, as a rule--it had happened before--but now, to-day, because of a studied glance he had given her, neither tender nor smiling, she felt as though something unusual were about to happen. Her own body was going hot and cold by turns--her neck and hands. She had a fine figure, finer than she realized, with shapely limbs and torso. Her head had some of the sharpness of the old Greek coinage, and her hair was plaited as in ancient cut stone. Cowperwood noted it. He came back and, without taking his seat, bent over her and intimately took her hand.
"Antoinette," he said, lifting her gently.
She looked up, then arose--for he slowly drew her--breathless, the color gone, much of the capable practicality that was hers completely eliminated. She felt limp, inert. She pulled at her hand faintly, and then, lifting her eyes, was fixed by that hard, insatiable gaze of his. Her head swam--her eyes were filled with a telltale confusion.
"Antoinette!"
"Yes," she murmured.
"You love me, don't you?"
She tried to pull herself together, to inject some of her native rigidity of soul into her air--that rigidity which she always imagined would never desert her--but it was gone. There came instead to her a picture of the far Blue Island Avenue neighborhood from which she emanated--its low brown cottages, and then this smart, hard office and this strong man. He came out of such a marvelous world, apparently. A strange foaming seemed to be in her blood. She was deliriously, deliciously numb and happy.
"Antoinette!"
"Oh, I don't know what I think," she gasped. "I-- Oh yes, I do, I do."
"I like your name," he said, simply. "Antoinette." And then, pulling her to him, he slipped his arm about her waist.
She was frightened, numb, and then suddenly, not so much from shame as shock, tears rushed to her eyes. She turned and put her hand on the desk and hung her head and sobbed.
"Why, Antoinette," he asked, gently, bending over her, are you so much unused to the world? I thought you said you loved me. Do you want me to forget all this and go on as before? I can, of course, if you can, you know."
He knew that she loved him, wanted him.
She heard him plainly enough, shaking.
"Do you?" he said, after a time, giving her moments in which to recover.
"Oh, let me cry!" she recovered herself sufficiently to say, quite wildly. "I don't know why I'm crying. It's just because I'm nervous, I suppose. Please don't mind me now."
"Antoinette," he repeated, "look at me! Will you stop?"
"Oh no, not now. My eyes are so bad."
"Antoinette! Come, look!" He put his hand under her chin. "See, I'm not so terrible."
"Oh," she said, when her eyes met his again, "I--" And then she folded her arms against his breast while he petted her hand and held her close.
"I'm not so bad, Antoinette. It's you as much as it is me. You do love me, then?"
"Yes, yes--oh yes!"
"And you don't mind?"
"No. It's all so strange." Her face was hidden.
"Kiss me, then."
She put up her lips and slipped her arms about him. He held her close.
He tried teasingly to make her say why she cried, thinking the while of what Aileen or Rita would think if they knew, but she would not at first--admitting later that it was a sense of evil.
Curiously she also thought of Aileen, and how, on occasion, she had seen her sweep in and out. Now she was sharing with her (the dashing Mrs. Cowperwood, so vain and superior) the wonder of his affection. Strange as it may seem, she looked on it now as rather an honor. She had risen in her own estimation--her sense of life and power. Now, more than ever before, she knew something of life because she knew something of love and passion. The future seemed tremulous with promise. She went back to her machine after a while, thinking of this. What would it all come to? she wondered, wildly. You could not have told by her eyes that she had been crying. Instead, a rich glow in her brown cheeks heightened her beauty. No disturbing sense of Aileen was involved with all this.
Antoinette was of the newer order that was beginning to privately question ethics and morals. She had a right to her life, lead where it would. And to what it would bring her. The feel of Cowperwood's lips was still fresh on hers. What would the future reveal to her now? What?
