But his aloofness seemed to increase with time. There had been no natural evolution of friendship. She thought then, "He acts artificially toward me. It's because he doesn't want anything to sidetrack him. Not even friendships. He isn't quite human. He's like a machine that's wound up. And he must run till he breaks down."
This image of Basine fascinated her. A man without heart, a cool will feeling its way tirelessly toward power, a thirst for power that increased rather than stated itself with success. When he'd been elected judge, he had surprised her by asking, "Would you like to come along with me to the County Building? The office doesn't include a secretary, but I need one on my own account."
During the months she had gained an almost embarrassing insight into the activities engulfing Basine. The man himself remained hidden, non-existent. But the world in which he had obliterated himself became vividly outlined for her. The intrigues, counter intrigues, the complexities of his climb, these were open secrets to her. He seemed shameless about them. Often when she watched him furtively as he wrote out political speeches should would think, "Is there a man there?"
It seemed to her there was not. Only an ambition tirelessly at work. An ambition with a keen, nervous face, sharp eyes, thin hands and an eloquent voice. But something more. A man who didn't hide inside ideas but who remained outside them, giving himself to nothing except his consuming desire to utilize ideas for his own end. He remained outside manipulating. He manipulated life. All for what?
Fascinated, she fell in love. When he came in where she was, her heart jumped. When he talked to her, something contracted in her throat, and frightened her. She had her day dreams. As the spring opened sunny mornings over the streets, she would sit gazing out of the tall windows and think of Basine. Her thoughts took an odd turn. They built up scenes in which Basine lay defeated. Accidents had maimed him. Political reversals had taken the heart out of him. He was ruined, poor, without employment. She pictured such situations with relish. In them she appeared as an understanding one. She would fancy herself coming to him and shaking her head sadly and saying, "Poor man. I'm so sorry. But you see ... you see where it all led? to this."
And she would fancy him smiling back with a romantic tiredness and reaching for her hand and answering as if he were an actor with a speech:
"Yes, my dear? I've been wrong. Ambition is wrong. I'm ruined. And it is only proof that I was wrong."
And then, in her fancies, he would look at her tenderly and raising her hand to his lips murmur, "Forgive me, Ruth."
The door of the chambers opened and Ruth looked up, startled. Paul Schroder strode in. He looked jaunty. She smiled. He was one of Basine's friends, and she liked him for that. He had been of the hard-working loyal ones during Basine's campaign.
"Oh, nothing in particular," he said. "Thought I'd just drop in for a smoke. How's his Honor, these days?"
"He's very fine," Ruth answered. Schroder shook his head.
"I'm afraid he's drying up," he grinned. "That's the trouble with men of his type. Get their noses down to a grindstone and never have time to look up."
Ruth blushed. That didn't sound like a loyal speech. She saw Schroder smiling broadly at her.
"You're quite a champion of his," he was saying. "Well, well. Maybe his Honor isn't as slow as I've been giving him credit for being."
From anyone else this would have been offensive, she thought. But there was something pleasing in the accusation. She hesitated and then returned his smile.
"You know as well as I, what kind of a man Judge Basine is," she answered. "He's the kind every woman respects at first sight."
"Loves, you mean," said Schroder.
"Oh no, I don't think a woman could really love Mr. Basine," she smiled.
"He's too much wrapped up in himself."
"Well, I don't know then," said Schroder, "his wife puts up a pretty good bluff then."
Ruth's smile left her.
"Oh," she said, "of course."
Schroder laughed.
"Well, well," he went on, "so you'd forgotten he had a wife. That's a sweet kettle of fish. Such memory lapses are dangerous. Watch your step, young lady. Look out."
He stood up and approached her and wagged a finger mockingly. In a way Schroder annoyed her. He always made her feel juvenile. She could never use any of her sophisticated phrases on him. Because he laughed too loudly and if you retorted cleverly he always guffawed as if he had trapped you into having to be clever. His manner always seemed to say, "You can't put it over me. I know. I know...."
Ruth turned with relief at the sound of a door opening. Basine. This was one of his habits, to appear suddenly and for no reason at all and walk up and down the large room as if immersed in grave thought. She had often wondered why he did this. She thought it was because the work on the bench made him too nervous or because there were so many things weighing on his mind that he needed a few minutes now and then to straighten himself out.
But while thinking this she had always felt that his sudden appearances had something to do with her. It was perhaps only a part of her vanity, she mused, but she always had this impression--that despite his indifference and sternness he was curiously attentive. No matter how busy he was he never absented himself long. He was always returning and walking up and down. It was odd, but she felt at times that he walked up and down for her, to be near her.
"Hello Paul," Basine's eyes slanted up at him, his head slightly lowered. A pose which gave him a pugnaciously concentrated air such as a schoolmaster looking over the top of his glasses at an erring pupil might achieve. "What do you want?" A disconcerting directness he reserved for the embarrassment of his friends. He asked straightforward questions, point-blank questions. His questions always had the air of troops unafraid, wheeling in manoeuver to face the enemy.
"Nothing much, Judge. But your office is kind of restful."
Schroder rolled a kittenish eye toward Ruth.
"Oh!" Basine stiffened. "Hm."
Schroder winked at the girl. He came forward, and added, "All the comforts of home, eh?" And dropped into a chair beside her.
He had the faculty of boyishness, a talent for intimacies. His trick was a conscious thrust beneath the guard of women. He chose to ignore the delicate fol de rols of pursuit, the pretense of formality. He refused to recognize the barriers of dignity, strangeness, social poise--but stepped through them with an easy laugh as if perfectly aware of what lay beyond, and seated himself beside his quarry in the guise of a mischievous boy asking to be congratulated for his boldness.
Women succumbed to this gesture, disarmed by its frankness, its pretense to innocent juvenility. In this manner Schroder achieved within an hour intimacies which came to other men only after months of laborious toil.
He threw a noise of laughter over the bantering innuendoes of his talk, disguising boldness in its own obviousness. His sallies seemed to say, "You have nothing to fear from us since we are not secretive. We are cards on the table."
Women thought of him, "He's lots of fun. You don't have to pretend with him. You can play and talk without feeling he's laying traps for you."
But despite the straightforwardness of the man they soon located the overtone in his conversation. It lay in his eyes. His eyes never gave themselves to his laughter. They seemed to watch avidly from behind something. It was as if they were independent of his characterization as a frankly mischievous overgrown boy. They were able to ask amazingly indecent questions in the midst of his frankest outbursts. Women invariably grew embarrassed under their stare. There was no defense against the inquisitive impudence with which they announced the male's concentration. Their gleam was like an unmistakable whisper--an invitation.
Basine admired the man. But he remained oblivious to this side of him.
Schroder's female conquests had never interested the Judge. He had heard of them and forgotten immediately. Now, however, memories returned.
Schroder was an unscrupulous animal. Basine looked at him with a hopeless misgiving.
He noticed as Schroder and Ruth talked that he seemed on far more intimate terms with her than he. There was an _esprit_ between the two as if they were comrades of long standing. His friend's familiarity was a shock--as if he had caught him undressed, unexpectedly. Basine listened to his talk with an aloof frown, as if he were unable to focus his attention on the scene. He was thinking of something else--far-away things, vast preoccupations.
"Loafing is an art. Don't you think so, Ruth?"
"I've never had time to find out."
"Hm. I'm teacher. Want me to be teacher?"
"Why yes, if you have time in your loafing."
"Time for you always, my dear." A contemplative stare at the girl. "What would you say, Judge, if I fall in love with your charming secretary."
He laughed. Basine cleared his throat. He felt miserably out of this sort of thing. He was shocked to hear Ruth giggle.
"Yes sir," Schroder continued. "And what are you doing this evening?"
"Nothing, Mr. Schroder."
"Well, why waste time? How about dinner and a show?"
"Really?" She glanced at Basine as if to declare him in on this give and take. He was preoccupied, hardly observing what was happening. She pouted.
"Cross my heart," said Schroder.