The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1926-04-01
SANDY 1..s sn1s &c acn %IeEh'T;

sometimes with a pang of bitter
ness: "Why should 1? What had 1
to lose?"
And finding that warm, tender
look fixed in her face, finding the
sunny, brown eyes following her so
eagerly, she became frightened. She
told herself: II have a right to- this!
Little enough! He loves me-"
When they sat before the fire,
he held her hands. He told her they
were married-this was their home.
Then thoughts flashed through her
mind like knives. She would i'm
agine her mother opening the door
the shock and terror Of her moth
er's eyes. She covered her face,
pressing it against his shoulder.
$50 you have to go tomorrow"
ct won't go tomorrow, Sandy"
"The next day. What shall I do
alone?'
So he put it off day after day. A
week passed. Sunset. They stood
on the cliff against the gnarled, lone
cypress tree. Far out, the sun was
a blood-red chalice floating on the
sea. He held her in his arms. He
turned her face upward, kissing it.
His bronzed, happy face had a
quiet austerity-a drawn, suffering
look. The farewell moment here
now with the hush of the twilight
folding down and about them from
every hill and tree.
Promise me, Sandy-Sandy dar-
ling, that you won't regret. you
won't give way to sadness when
I'm gone"
81 won't"
when you're alone-but I won't
leave you very long. I'm afraid Of
that for you. I'll return soon to
stay-to stay always. L wish it were
1 that were to bear it all. I could
fill the time. 1 could fill an eter-
nifty thinking of you-longing for
you. Put your arms about me. Say
you care like tkat-say you care al
most like that. Do you?"
II care for you, Ramon"
"And you will marry me, Sandy?"
"How can L? Oh, You know"
II don't care for myself. Only for
you. 1 want you on any terms. Any
at all. And you?"
She reached up her hands, held
his face a moment, then drew it
down to hers. Don't look so, Ra-
mon. You brighten me. Laugh. I
like you most when you're laugh
ing. I won't regret. Why should L?
It's better and sweeter and finer
than anything I've known"
"You mean all of that, Sandy? AS
though we were married. AS
though you are my wife,"
She kissed him with white, SOM
Der lips. She silenced him with her
lips on his. They walked in silence
back to the house.
Alone again. The nights with the
dog coming up with an inquiring
bark, resting his head for an impul-
sive moment on her knee-the days
walking along the beach, staring at
the dazzling DEMONSTRATING IN the
white, cleaning dunes.
1t seemed to her that she could
never draw a free, easy breath. She
moved about misunderstanding and
excited.
She flung her head back and said
aloud: I'm glad. 1 don't regret.
I do not!' And she took refuge in
the memory Of Ramon's eyes, wor-
Shipping and tender. When had any
other ever looked at her so? When
hay any other been all sweetness
all g~entleness?
She asked with trembling lips.
She said: "T'hey want me to go
back to him. Because he's my hUs-
band! And that makes any infamy
respectable. But I won't. I know
what a fine, beautiful love can be. 1
know"
And then she felt a whitening
scorn for the sham her two years of
marriage had been. She turned with
a multinous resentment from the
convention that would w~hitewash
the ignominy Of these years.
She told herself: I've done it,!