Page:Strange Interlude (1928).djvu/336

330 You must never blame them, dear. No one can help love. We couldn’t, could we?

[''She sits beside him. He takes her in his arms. They hiss each other with rising passion''. ''comes in noiselessly from the garden, a bunch of roses and a pair of shears in his hands. He looks younger, calm and contented. He is dressed in his all black, meticulous, perfectly tailored mourning costume. He stands looking at the two lovers, a queer agitation coming into his face'']

[Scandalised as an old maid—thinking]

I must say! his father hardly cold in his grave! it’s positively bestial!

[Then struggling with himself—with a defensive self-mockery]

Only it wasn’t his father what is Sam to Darrell’s son? and even if he were Sam’s son, what have the living to do with the dead? his duty is to love that life may keep on living and what has their loving to do with me? my life is cool green shade wherein comes no scorching zenith sun of passion and possession to wither the heart with bitter poisons my life gathers roses, coolly crimson, in sheltered gardens, on late afternoons in love with evening  roses heavy with after-blooming of the long day, desiring evening  my life is an evening  Nina is a rose, my rose, exhausted by the long, hot day, leaning wearily toward peace.

[He kisses one of the roses with a simple sentimental smile—then still smiling, makes a gesture toward the two lovers]

That is on another planet, called the world Nina and I have moved on to the moon.