The Three Lovers

Harry Greenlees, the young man with the flashing teeth, had been given his Rugby blue ten or eleven years before, and had helped Oxford to beat Cambridge in a memorable year. Since leaving the University he had played for two seasons with the Harlequins; but his footballing days were over now as he could no longer endure the strain of ninety-minutes' incessant conflict. During the rather aimless experiments which followed in the art of earning a living without exertion, Harry had revived an undergraduate habit of writing sporting descriptive articles, and to fellow-journalists his competence for this work was known. It was not, however, celebrated among his friends or the general public, and as he had fallen in quite by accident with a semi-literary and artistic set, the members of which took him for granted as a cheerful companion with enough money to live on, Harry enjoyed a most agreeable sort of life. His work was slangy and vigorous, and if it did not produce an income upon which a man of his type could exist, it made sufficient the small private means which were already at Harry's command. He was able to support himself in comfort and to go about the world very much at his ease.

Abroad, Harry walked, with a knapsack on his shoulders, and saw the countries of Europe from the road. It was for papers chiefly concerned with out-of-door life and sport that he worked, and accordingly he found material ready for his eye and his fountain-pen wherever


 he turned for diversion. His was a life of varied pleasure, and for as long as he remained fit he would find it inexhaustible in possibilities. He was a lively companion and a good sort. He was full of zest, making friends lightly and as lightly letting them go. Everybody felt his honesty and his energy, and he had neither the mannerisms of the unduly famous nor the menacing air of those who are intellectually better than their company. He was happy, impulsive, handsome, agreeable, and charming. It needed an Edgar Mayne to detect his faults, and Harry was too unsuspecting and satisfied to suppose that others were more subtle than himself.

He had been talking to Rhoda Flower, the dark girl with the milk-white face, when he first observed Edgar. And Edgar had been so little remarkable in appearance that this was the first fact about him which Harry had noticed. Harry, however, had found himself looking back at Edgar, unable to account for the interest he felt in the unknown. Rhoda, whom he had asked, knew no more about the man than he did, and had been indifferent; but Harry was definitely curious. If Edgar had been nearer he would have found himself directly addressed; but as it was the exchanged glance already mentioned was the only communication to pass between the two men. The glance had originated in a most singular impression which formed in Harry's mind.

When Monty had moved forward to great old Dalrymple, who was some sort of artist, Harry had felt his usual dislike of the man, based upon the feeling that Dalrymple carried with him an air of stale drink and unsuccess. But he had looked past the old man to the unknown girl who seemed to be his companion; and instantly there shot through him that strong sexual interest which Harry was in the habit of calling "love." He was a strong young man, very sufficiently sensual, and his


 notions of love were made accordingly. It was a quick impulse, and his first thought after receiving it and deciding that he must know the stranger was the realisation that what he had desired Monty also would desire. And then, ignoring all the others present, he had sharply sensed danger. The glance at Edgar had been quite three-quarters of a challenge. The flashing teeth had been bared, and the blue eyes had been hard. But there was something about Edgar which disarmed him. Hence the smile.

This was not the first time Harry had been in love. He was attractive, and he was quickly attracted. He had self-assurance, and he knew how to give pleasure. To Rhoda Flower he was certainly the most attractive person in the world. It was to her that he continued quietly to talk while the stranger was being brought forward to the group round the fireplace. He was teasing Rhoda, and gave no further sign of interest in the other girl; but he knew when she was near. He turned his head and looked at her. He looked from near at hand at the soft, beautifully moulded cheeks and the impetuous mouth and the clear blue eyes; and a very faint additional colour came into his face. Not knowing that Edgar was watching him, he was perfectly aware of the girl's grace and beauty. The curve of her neck and breast and shoulder seemed always to have been known and entrancing to him. With Harry it was love at first sight.

"... Greenlees—Miss Quin," said Monty, leading the stranger from one to the other of his older friends, and making her acquainted with them all.

The smoke-filled atmosphere seemed to come down like a cloud against which she stood fresh and lovely. All the vehemences of colour about him were softened. For that instant Harry saw nothing but the stranger,


 felt nothing but her hand. He found Miss Quin adorable. She was a reality, a sweet and wayward reality, like a flash of scarlet; and his one desire was to feel her soft hair against his cheek, her cool shoulder, her surrendered lips. The imagination of these contacts was intense. Into Harry's expression of light spirits crept something ever so slightly heavier. He was serious. To him the senses were a cause of seriousness, a cause of the complete oblivion of all that was comic or whimsical.

From behind him came the voice of the young artist, Amy Roberts.

"Hullo, Patricia," she said in greeting.

Patricia! Patricia Quin. So that was the stranger's name. Harry's faint flush subsided. He cooled. The vision had passed. The quick physical imagining was for the present gone, no longer an eager craving. He must talk to her, see her, be with her; but in a few minutes, quite easily and simply. What lay in the future was something which stretched much farther than his immediate vision. To Harry it beckoned as irresistible adventure.