"Marty!" cried Joan.
There was a curious glint in Martin's gray eyes, like the flash of steel in front of a window.His jaw was set, and his face strangely white.
"You said you were going to bed."
"I was going to bed, Marty dear."
"What are you doing here, then?"
"I changed my mind, old boy, and went out to dinner.""Chucked me in favor of Palgrave."
"No, I didn't."
"What then?"
"He rang up after you'd gone; and going to bed like an old crock seemed silly and feeble, and so I dressed and went out.""Why with that rotter Palgrave? "
"Why not? And why rotter?"
"You don't answer my question!"
"Have I got to answer your question?"
"You're my wife, although you don't seem to know it; and I object to Pargrave.""I can't help that, Marty.I like him, you see, and humble little person as I am, I can't be expected to turn my back on every one except the men you choose for me.""I don't choose any men for you.I want you for myself.""Dear old Marty, but you've got me forever!""No, I haven't.You're less mine now than you were when I only saw you in dreams.But all the same you're my wife, and I tell you now, you sha'n't be handled by a man like Palgrave."They were in the middle of the floor.There were people all round them, thickly.They were obliged to keep going in that lunatic movement or be run down.What a way and in what a place to bare a bleeding heart!
For the first time since he had answered to her call and found her standing clean-cut against the sky, Martin held Joan in his arms.
His joy in doing so was mixed with rage and jealousy.It had been worse than a blow in the mouth suddenly to see her, of whom he had thought as fast asleep in what was only the mere husk of home, dancing with a man like Palgrave.
And her nearness maddened him.All the starved and pent-up passion that was in him flamed and blazed.It blinded him and buzzed in his ears.He held her so tight and so hungrily that she could hardly breathe.She was his, this girl.She had called him, and he had answered, and she was his wife.He had the right to her by law and nature.He adored her and had let her off and tried to be patient and win his way to her by love and gentleness.But with his lips within an inch of her sweet, impertinent face, and the scent of her hair in his brain, and the wound that she had opened again sapping his blood, he held her to his heart and charged the crowd to the beat of the music, like a man intoxicated, like a man heedless of his surroundings.He didn't give a curse who overheard what he said, or saw the look in his eyes.She had turned him down, this half-wife, on the plea of weariness; and as soon as he had left the house to go and eat his heart out in the hub of that swarming lonely city, she had darted out with this doll-man whom he wouldn't have her touch with the end of a pole.There was a limit to all things, and he had come to it.
"You're coming home," he said.
"Marty, but I can't.Gilbert Palgrave--"
"Gilbert Palgrave be damned.You're coming home, I tell you, if Ihave to carry you out."
She laughed.This was a new Marty, a high-handed, fiery Marty--one who must not be encouraged."Are you often like this?" she asked.
"Be careful.I've had enough, and if you don't want me to smash this place up and cause a riot, you'll do what I tell you."Her eyes flashed back at him, and two angry spots of color came into her cheeks.He was out of control.She realized that.She had never in her life seen any one so out of control--unaccountable as she found it.That he would smash up the place and cause a riot she knew instinctively.She put up no further opposition.If anything were to be avoided, it was a scene, and in her mind's eye she could see herself being carried out by this plunging boy, with a yard of stocking showing and the laughter of every one ringing in her ears.
No, no, not that! She began to look for Palgrave, with her mind all alert and full of a mischievous desire to turn the tables on Martin.
He must be shown quickly that if any one gave orders, she did.
He danced her to the edge of the floor, led her panting through the tables to the foot of the stairs and with his hand grasping her arm like a vice, guided her up to the place where ladies left their wraps.
"We're going home," he said, "to have things out.I'll wait here."Then he called a boy and told him to get his hat and coat and gave him his check.
Five minutes later, in pulsating silence, both of them angry and inarticulate, they stood in the street waiting for a taxi.The soft air touched their hot faces with a refreshing finger.Hardly any one who saw that slip of a girl and that square-shouldered boy with his unlined face would have imagined that they could be anything but brother and sister.The marriage of babies! Was there no single apostle of common sense in all the country--a country so gloriously free that it granted licenses to every foolishness without a qualm?
Palgrave was standing on the curb, scowling.His car moved up, and the porter went forward to open the door.As quick as lightning, Joan saw her chance to put Martin into his place and evade an argument.Wasn't she out of that old country cage at last? Couldn't she revel in free flight without being called to order and treated like a school-girl, at last? What fun to use Palgrave to show Martin her spirit!
She touched him on the arm and looked up at him with dancing eyes and a teasing smile."Not this time, Marty," she said, and was across the sidewalk in a bound."Quick," she said to Palgrave.
"Quick!" And he, catching the idea with something more than amusement, sprang into the car after her, and away they went.
A duet of laughter hung briefly in the air.
With all the blood in his head, Martin, coming out of utter surprise, made a dash for the retreating car, collided with the porter and stood ruefully and self-consciously over the burly figure that had gone down with a crash upon the pavement.
