Books at bedtime by Calming Anxiety.
Kate Chopin, the kiss.
It was still quite light out of the doors, but inside with the curtains drawn and the
small ring fire sending out a dim, uncertain glow, the room was full of deep shadows.
Brantin sat in one of these shadows. It had overtaken him and he did not mind. The obscurity
lent him courage to keep his eyes fastened as ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat
in the firelight.
She was very handsome, with a certain fine, rich colouring that belongs to the healthy
brunet hype. She was quite composed as she idly stroked the satiny cat of the cat that
lay curled in her lap, and she occasionally sent a slow glance into the shadow where her
companion sat.
They were talking low of indifferent things which plainly were not the things that occupied
their thoughts.
She knew that he loved her, a frank blustering fellow without guile enough to conceal his
feelings, and no desire to do so.
The two weeks passed he had sought her society eagerly and persistently.
She was confidently waiting for him to declare himself and she meant to accept him.
The rather insignificant and unattractive Brantin was enormously rich, and she liked and required
the entourage which wealth could give her.
During one of the pauses between their talk of the last tea and the next reception, the
door open and the young man entered, whom Brantin knew quite well. The girl turned her face
toward him.
A stride or two brought him to her side and bending over her chair before she could suspect
his intention, for she did not realise that he had not seen her visitor.
He pressed an ardent, lingering kiss upon her lips.
Brantin slowly arose, so did the girl arise, but quickly and the new comest stood between
them, a little amusement and some defiant struggling with the confusion in his face.
I believe, Stamad Brantin, I see that I have stayed too long.
I had no idea that is, I must wish you goodbye.
He was clutching his hat with both hands and probably did not perceive that she was extending
her hand to him.
Her presence of mine had not completely deserted her, but she could not have trusted herself
to speak.
Hang me if I saw him sitting there, Natty.
I know it's juiced awkward for you, but I hope you'll forgive me this once.
This very first break.
Why?
What's the matter?
Don't touch me.
Don't come near me, she returned angrily.
Do you mean by entering the house without ringing?
I came in with your brother, as I often do, he answered coldly, in self-justification.
We came in the sideway.
He went upstairs and I came in here hoping to find you.
The explanation is simple enough and ought to satisfy you that the misadventure was unavoidable,
but do say that you forgive me, Natalie.
She entered.
Softly.
Forgive you.
You don't know what you're talking about.
Let me pass.
It depends upon a good deal whether I ever forgive you.
At that next reception, which she and Brountain had been talking about, she approached the young
man with a delicious frankness of manner when she saw him there.
Will you let me speak to you a moment or two, Mr. Brountain?
She asked with an engaging but perturbed smile.
He seemed extremely unhappy, but when she took his arm and walked away with him, seeking
a retired corner, a ray of hope mingled with the almost comical misery of his expression.
She was, apparently, very outspoken.
Perhaps I should not have sought this interview, Mr. Brountain, but, but I have been very
uncomfortable, almost miserable since that little encounter the other afternoon.
When I thought how you might have misinterpreted it and believed things, hope, was plainly gaining
the ascendry over misery in Brountain's round, gireless face.
Of course, I know it is nothing to you, but for my own sake, I do not understand that Mr.
Harvey is an intimate friend of long-standing.
Why?
We have always been like cousins, like brother and sister I may say.
He is my brother's most intimate associate, and often fancies that he is entitled to the
same privileges as the family.
Oh, I know it is absurd.
Uncalled for to tell you this, undignified even.
She was almost weeping.
And it makes so much difference to me of what you think of me, a voice that grown very low
and agitated.
The misery had all disappeared from Brountain's face.
Then you do really care what I think, Miss Natalie?
May I call you Miss Natalie?
They turned into a long dim corridor that was lined on either side with torn, graceful
plants.
They walked slowly to the very end of it.
When they turned to retrace their steps, Brountain's face was radiant and hers was triumphant.
Harvey was among the guests at the wedding, and he sought her out in a rare moment when she
stood alone.
"Your husband," he said smiling, "has sent me over to kiss you."
A quick blush, suffused her face and round polished throat.
I suppose it is natural for a man to feel and act generously on an occasion of this kind.
He tells me he doesn't want his marriage to interrupt wholly that pleasant intimacy which
has existed between you and me.
I don't know what you've been telling him with an incident smile, but he is sent me here
to kiss you.
She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of his pieces, sees the game taking
the course intended.
Her eyes were bright and tender, with a smile as they glanced up into his face and her lips
looked hungry for the kiss which they invited.
"But, you know, you went on quietly.
I didn't tell him so.
It would have seemed ungrateful, but I can tell you.
I've stopped kissing women.
It's dangerous."
Well, she had Brantin and his million left, a person can't have everything in this world,
and it was a little unreasonable of her to expect it.