A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 19: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

18 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY vered mind and body alike demanded it. Though he himself hardly realized the fact, the last fortnight had burned up energies in him which might have suf- nee for five years of ordinary, tranquil ife. Knowing not which way to go, in the wide-reaching grounds, and caring less, ne idled down a broad path which led from aloes, palms, and mulberry-trees to a sort of vine-covered belvedere, perched on a jutting outcrop of yellow-white vol- canic stone a full fifth of a mile above the sea. The wide and splendid prospect he viewed with no more than languid inter- est. His every thought was centered on Il Vecchio, and on the question that he hoped would soon be answered. So, there he stood on the steps of the summer-house, a lean, bent, eagerly intro- spective figure, with coming senility ap- parent in every feature, every line, and look. “Half an hour yet to wait!” growled he, in petulant impatience. “Half an hour, when every minute’s a month to me! But he’s got the whip-hand. If he takes it into his head not to answer, why—it’s all over. I’ve got to humor him, give in, and suit his own convenience, worse luck!’’ And with hot anger in his eyes, he went on up into the summer-house, intending to pass there the hateful yet unavoidable delay. Suddenly he stopped, peering into the strong sunlight. For, at the far end of the pergola, half-hidden in the mottled shad- ow, he all at once perceived somebody sitting—a girl clad all in white, with a crimson scarf thrown loosely over her hair. “‘I—I beg pardon!” stammered the doc- tor, raising his hat. “Didn’t know there was anybody here. Not intruding, I hope ?” “Oh, not in the least,”’ replied the girl, smiling at him with friendly interest. She spoke in French, which Dennison knew thoroughly. “No friend of my uncle’s could possibly intrude. Will you come up and rest?” She laid aside the embroidery-hoop which she had been very busy with, and, rising, graciously indicated a seat on the vine-shaded bench that circled the end of the pergola. “Pray, don’t rise! Don’t let me disturb you!” exclaimed the doctor, momentarily forgetting even his keen impatience and annoyance in presence of this unexpected beauty. And, still hat in hand, he stood a moment undecided whether to retreat or to accept the invitation and remain a while. Half-consciously he seemed to real- ize the glaring discrepancy between the youth and charm of this French girl, em- bowered in blossoms and with the eternal splendor of the Riviera for background, and his own anemic, withered ugliness. Yet for all that he sat down heavily upon the bench. “The—the warmth here--” he began. “We Americans, you know, are used to a more rigorous climate—more bracing, you understand.” She answered nothing for a moment, but merely regarded him with a half- puzzled smile. Then she sat down, too, and once more began busying herself with her embroidery. “So you are an American?” asked she. “Like Dr. Witham, of whom my uncle so often speaks. We see very few Ameri- cans here. Sometimes a German doctor comes, or an Italian. Once we had a Swedish surgeon. Uncle—and I—we al- ways welcome everybody who comes in good faith and in the name of science.” Thus, in the sweetest conceivable accent, she concluded. And with a serious expression quite surprising to the doctor, she gazed at him with level eyes. No child was she, though he judged her at no more than one or two-and twenty, yet (as is common with women of warm climates) she seemed to have developed far beyond the expec- tation of her years. As Dennison, still a trifle confused, returned her look, he could not help noting the perfect oval of her face, her piquant chin and finely modeled throat, clearly revealed by the soft folds of the organdy. Her frank inspection of him completed, she once more resumed her task. In spite of the doctor’s intense perturbation of mind and the burning impatience which ossessed him, he could not suppress feel- ings of admiration in watching her deft fingers ply the needle. Thoughtfully he observed her as she turned the tight- stretched linen, or held it out for in- spection. an) (C 6)(0)©) (C(O)