he must write to angela. he had not thought of her all the time he had been gone. he had been in the habit of writing to her every third or fourth day at least; while of late his letters had been less passionate they had remained fairly regular. but now this sudden break coming—it was fully three weeks—made her think he must be ill, although she had begun to feel also that he might be changing. his letters had grown steadily less reminiscent of the joys they had experienced together and of the happiness they were anticipating, and more inclined to deal with the color and character of city life and of what he hoped to achieve. angela was inclined to excuse much of this on the grounds of the special effort he was making to achieve distinction and a living income for themselves. but it was hard to explain three weeks of silence without something quite serious having happened.
eugene understood this. he tried to explain it on the grounds of illness, stating that he was now up and feeling much better. but when his explanation came, it had the hollow ring of insincerity. angela wondered what the truth could be. was he yielding to the temptation of that looser life that all artists were supposed to lead? she wondered and worried, for time was slipping away and he was setting no definite date for their much discussed nuptials.
the trouble with angela's position was that the delay involved practically everything which was important in her life. she was five years older than eugene. she had long since lost that atmosphere of youth and buoyancy which is so characteristic of a girl between eighteen and twenty-two. those few short years following, when the body of maidenhood blooms like a rose [pg 166] and there is about it the freshness and color of all rich, new, lush life, were behind her. ahead was that persistent decline towards something harder, shrewder and less beautiful. in the case of some persons the decline is slow and the fragrance of youth lingers for years, the artifices of the dressmaker, the chemist, and the jeweller being but little needed. in others it is fast and no contrivance will stay the ravages of a restless, eager, dissatisfied soul. sometimes art combines with slowness of decay to make a woman of almost perennial charm, loveliness of mind matching loveliness of body, and taste and tact supplementing both. angela was fortunate in being slow to fade and she had a loveliness of imagination and emotion to sustain her; but she had also a restless, anxious disposition of mind which, if it had not been stayed by the kindly color of her home life and by the fortunate or unfortunate intervention of eugene at a time when she considered her ideal of love to have fairly passed out of the range of possibility, would already have set on her face the signs of old maidenhood. she was not of the newer order of femininity, eager to get out in the world and follow some individual line of self-development and interest. rather was she a home woman wanting some one man to look after and love. the wonder and beauty of her dream of happiness with eugene now made the danger of its loss and the possible compulsory continuance of a humdrum, underpaid, backwoods existence, heart-sickening.
meanwhile, as the summer passed, eugene was casually enlarging his acquaintance with women. machugh and smite had gone back home for the summer, and it was a relief from his loneliness to encounter one day in an editorial office, norma whitmore, a dark, keen, temperamental and moody but brilliant writer and editor who, like others before her, took a fancy to eugene. she was introduced to him by jans jansen, art director of the paper, and after some light banter she offered to show him her office.
she led the way to a little room no larger than six by eight where she had her desk. eugene noticed that she was lean and sallow, about his own age or older, and brilliant and vivacious. her hands took his attention for they were thin, shapely and artistic. her eyes burned with a peculiar lustre and her loose-fitting clothes were draped artistically about her. a conversation sprang up as to his work, which she knew and admired, and he was invited to her apartment. he looked at norma with an unconsciously speculative eye.
