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JOHN M. BLAIN
CRC Press
Taylor & Francis Group
6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300
Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742
This book contains information obtained from authentic and highly regarded sources. Reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable
data and information, but the author and publisher cannot assume responsibility for the validity of all materials or the consequences of their
use. The authors and publishers have attempted to trace the copyright holders of all material reproduced in this publication and apologize
to copyright holders if permission to publish in this form has not been obtained. If any copyright material has not been acknowledged please
write and let us know so we may rectify in any future reprint.
Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any form by
any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers.
For permission to photocopy or use material electronically from this work, please access www.copyright.com (http://www.copyright.com/)
or contact the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. (CCC), 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400. CCC is a not-for-profit
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Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
Visit the Taylor & Francis Web site at
http://www.taylorandfrancis.com
Introduction...........................................................................................................I
The Author............................................................................................................ XI
Acknowledgements............................................................................................. XIII
Preamble............................................................................................................... XV
CH07 Modifiers...................................................................................................93
The Complete Guide to Blender Graphics - 5 th Edition provides instruction in the use of the
Computer Graphics 3D Program Blender version 2.80. The manual is for those who wish to
undertake a learning experience and discover a wonderful creative new world of computer
graphics. The book also serves as a reference for established operators.
Instructions throughout the book introduce Blender's features with examples and diagrams
referenced to the Graphical User Interface (GUI).
The Complete Guide to Blender Graphics originated when Blender's Graphical User Interface
was transformed with the release of Blender version 2.50. Subsequent editions of the book have
kept pace with developments to the program and have included new material. With the release of
Blender 2.80 and its' new interface and operational philosophy, the Fifth Edition of The Complete
Guide to Blender Graphics provides current instruction.
For new users this book provides a fantastic learning experience in Computer Graphics using
Blender, by introducing the operation of the Blender program through the use of its' Graphical
user Interface. The book is intended to be read in conjunction with having the program in
operation, with the interface displayed on a computer monitor screen.
Instruction is presented using the tools displayed in the Graphical User Interface, with basic
examples demonstrating results. It is not intended to provide explicit tutorials on any particular
topic. Understanding where tools are located, their uses and how they are implemented will allow
the reader to more easily follow detailed instruction in the many written and video tutorials
available on the internet.
Blender is a 3D Computer Graphics Program with tools for modeling and animating objects and
characters and creating background scenes. Scenes may be made into still images. Animated
sequences may be used for video production. Models and Scenes are enhanced with color and
texture producing brilliant realistic effects. The still images and video may be for artistic
appreciation or employed as architectural or scientific presentations. There are also tools for 2D
animation production. Stand alone models may be used for 3D Printing.
The Blender program is maintained by the Blender Foundation and released as Open Source
Software which is available for download and FREE to be used for any purpose.
I
The program may be downloaded from:
www.blender.org
V2.80
Blender Features
www.blender.org/features/
Blender Platforms
Blender is a cross platform application for Windows Vista and above, Linux and Mac OSX 10.6
and above operating systems.
The operation of Blender in this manual is applicable to all operating platforms but operations
ancillary to the program, such as, saving work to the computers hard drive, have been described
exclusively using a Windows operating system.
II
System Requirements
Graphics
Blender 2.80 requires OpenGL 3.3 or above, with recent graphics drivers from your graphics card
manufacturer.
Hardware
Recommended hardware
• 64-bit quad core CPU
• 8 GB RAM
• Full HD display with 24 bit color
• Three button mouse
III
Program Evolution
Blender is continually evolving. New versions of the program are released as additions and
changes are incorporated, therefore, it is advisable to check the Blender website, from time to
time.
Earlier versions of the program and documentation may be obtained which provide valuable
information when you are conversant with the current release of the program. Video tutorials
available on the internet also provide valuable information but may not strictly adhere to the
current user interface or work flow. Major transformations occurred when the program changed
from version 2.49 to 2.50 and again at the change from version 2.79 to the current version 2.80.
Being aware of this evolution will allow you to consider anomalies when viewing online tutorials.
How you start Blender depends on how you have installed the program (see Download &
Installation at the front of the book). If you have used the MSI installer option for Windows,
Blender will be in the Program Files directory on your C: Drive and a shortcut icon will have been
placed on your desktop. If you have installed to a Window 10 operating system, Blender will be
listed under, Program Files\ Blender Foundation\ Blender.
2.80
2.80
IV
If you have downloaded and unzipped the compressed (ZIP) file for Blender the blender.exe
application file will be located in the folder where you unzipped the compressed file. Open the
folder and double click blender.exe or right click and select Open.
blender.exe
Note: By having one version of Blender installed via the Installer(.msi) option and another
using the ZIP method you can have more than one Blender version installed on your
computer at the same time. This is useful for version comparison or for development
purposes.
Shortcut
In the directory containing the blender.exe file create a shortcut and place it on the desktop.
This manual has been compiled as the experimental builds of Blender 2.80 have been released.
During that time numerous subtle changes improving the program's interface have been
implemented. Every effort has been made to incorporate these changes in images which
demonstrate operational features of the program.
Images used to construct diagrams may differ to what you see on your computer screen. The
Blender screen display may be customized or modified to suit individual user preferences. There
are several in built display themes which you can choose. In some cases the screen display has
been altered to facilitate the construction of diagrams (Figures). When alterations have been
made they do not detract from the instruction presented.
V
VI
Download & Installation
Download Blender
Select the current Blender version which is applicable to your operating system. Blender is
available for Windows, Mac OSX and GNU/Linux in 64 bit and 32 bit versions.
VII
The download options shown in the previous diagram present a download window for a
compressed zip file of the program.
Double click on the file name in the Downloads folder, follow the prompts and Blender will be
automatically installed to the Program Files folder on your computer and an icon will be placed
on your Desktop.
With a ZIP file you have to unzip the file. You first create a new folder on your computers hard
drive then use a program like 7-Zip or Win-Zip to unzip (decompress) the zip file into the new
folder (see the note at the end of the chapter).
When the file is unzipped into the new folder you will see blender.exe as one of the entries. You
double click on this to run Blender or you create a shortcut which places an icon on your desktop.
When using either installation option you double click the blender.exe file to run the program.
Shortcuts on the Desktop are shortcuts to the blender.exe file.
Note: By having one version of Blender installed via the Installer(.msi) option and another using
the ZIP method you can have more than one Blender version installed on your computer at the
same time. This is useful for version comparison or for development purposes.
VIII
Installing Blender on a Linux Operating System
Ubuntu
http://www.wikihow.com/Install-Blender-3D-on-Ubuntu
Fedora
https://wiki.blender.org/index.php/Doc:KO/2.6/Manual/
Introduction/Installing_Blender/Linux/Fedora
Debian
https://www.howtoinstall.co/en/debian/jessie/blender
https://wiki.blender.org/index.php/User:Greylica/Doc:2.6/Manual/
Introduction/Installing_Blender/Mac
IX
X
The Author
Coffs Harbour was a center for sawmill machinery and John became engaged in machinery
design and manufacture. He acquired a sound knowledge of this industry acting as installation
engineer then progressing to sales. This work afforded travel throughout Australia, Canada, the
United States and New Zealand.
On retirement, artistic pursuits returned with additional interests in writing and computing. Writing
notes whilst learning computer animation using Blender resulted in The Complete Guide to
Blender Graphics. The first edition, published in 2012, was well received and encouraged John
to compile a second edition inline with the latest version of the Blender program. This afforded
the opportunity to include new material. Subsequent editions have followed until this new
reformatted fifth edition.
XI
XII
Acknowledgments
Helen's assistance and patience have made this Fifth Edition of the
book possible.
A thank you goes to Kevin Hayes for his permission to use his art work
on the book cover.
- John M. Blain
XIII
XIV
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
deal to stay here in winter,”—in the tone of one who is forced to
admit a melancholy fact. “If you don’t, you’re liable to pretend to get
sick and have to go below for a spell. I’ve seen many of ’em go that
way.”
“Didn’t Jerry try to stop her?” said June in a low voice.
“Try to stop her?”—with angry contempt—“not much! He didn’t care.
Why, June Allen, he was glad, downright glad, I believe, to have her
go. He don’t care for anything under the canopy but Jerry Barclay.”
“He cared when he married her.” June’s voice was lower still and
shook. Her friend noticed it and determined to sow seed, now she
had the opportunity.
“Next to himself Jerry Barclay cares for money. That’s what he was
after, and he didn’t get it the way he expected. He’s got the
smoothest tongue any man ever had in his head, and he’s used it
right along to get money with. How long was Mrs. Newbury dead
when he got engaged to Mercedes Gracey? And do you suppose
he’d have ever asked her if they hadn’t struck one of the biggest ore-
bodies in Virginia on the fifteen-hundred-foot level of the Cresta
Plata? But they’ve got him by the leg up here now,”—with an exultant
laugh—“the whole three of ’em’s on to him. They give him a big
salary and don’t they make him work for it—oh, my! There ain’t no
drones in the Gracey boys’ hive, you can bet, and Jerry Barclay’s got
to hustle for every cent he earns. No San Francisco and good times
for him! If Mercedes was to cry and do the loving wife act to Black
Dan and say she couldn’t live without her husband I wouldn’t bet but
what she’d get him. But she ain’t done it. She don’t want him, Junie.
That’s what’s the matter in that shebang. Neither one of ’em wants
the other.”
“Why did she marry him?” said June. “Why did she—”
The baby here interrupted by giving vent to a loud exclamation, and
at the same time disdainfully casting her rubber rabbit on the floor.
Then she leaned over the arm of her high chair, staring with
motionless intentness at the discarded rabbit, as if expecting to see it
get up and walk away.
“That’s the thing that gets me,” said Mitty thoughtfully. “Why did she
marry him? She could have got a better man than Jerry, though I
suppose he was about the best in sight at the time. But she’s like the
baby here—always cryin’ and stretchin’ out for toys she can’t reach.
Then you give her the toy and she looks it all over and suddenly
gives a sort er disgusted snort, and throws it on the floor. She ain’t
got no more use for it, and the first thing you know she’ll be stretchin’
out for another one.”
June made no answer to this and Mitty, big with her subject, for her
dislike of Mercedes was an absorbing sentiment, went on:
“She treated him like dirt. Barney was up there one night while they
were at dinner. He was just in the room in front with the curtains
down between and they didn’t know he was there. He said he could
hear her pickin’ at Jerry because he’d been half an hour late for
dinner. He said she kep’ on pickin’ and pickin’ and Jerry not saying a
word. Barney says to me when he got home, ‘Jerry’s paid high for
his position.’ And I says to him when he told me, ‘That woman’s goin’
to make every one pay high for anything they get out er her. She’s
not givin’ things away free gratis.’”
The baby’s contemplation of the fallen rabbit had by this time lost its
charm. She threw herself back in her chair and raised her voice in a
wail distinctly suggestive of weariness of spirit and ennui. Mitty lifted
her, a formless, weeping bundle, from her chair, and June’s offer of
the rabbit was met by an angrily repulsing hand and a writhing
movement of irritated disgust.
“She’s tired, poor lamb!” said Mitty, rocking her gently to and fro and
slapping on her back with a comforting, maternal hand. “We try to
keep her awake till Barney gets in. He just thinks there’s nothing in
the world like his baby.”
The dusk was beginning to subdue the brilliancy of sunset, and
June, buttoning herself into her jacket, bade mother and child good
night. Mitty’s cheerful good-bys followed her down the passageway,
the baby’s now lusty cries drowning the last messages which usually
delay feminine farewells.
Once outside, she walked rapidly toward home, avoiding the crowds
on C Street, and flitting, a small, dark figure, through less frequented
byways. Tumult was in her heart, also the sense of dread that had
been with her ever since she came to Virginia and knew her old lover
was so near.
Since his marriage she had tried with desperate persistence to
uproot him from her thoughts. She not only had begun to realize his
baseness of character, but the realization was becoming not a matter
of words, but a living force which was beginning to chill the feeling
that for so long had held her in its grasp. The first symptom of a
decline in love, the comprehension and dislike of the faults of the
being loved, had begun to stir in her.
Now Mitty’s unexpected revelation had upset this more normal and
serener frame of mind. She felt herself suddenly swept backward
toward a point that she had hoped was far behind. An elation rose in
her that frightened her and filled her with shame. Jerry sordid,
throwing her from him for the lust of money, was a bearable thought.
It was Jerry loving and beloved that had been too bitter to be borne.
And Mitty had said there was no love on either side—he was glad to
have his wife go.
A turmoil of many feelings battled in her and the two strongest and
most violently opposed were fear and joy. As she stole homeward
through the darkening streets fear became stronger than joy. The
future loomed suddenly sinister. Her loneliness stretched darkly
menacing before her. Rosamund would soon be gone—gone so far,
never again to be reached with an outstretched hand or a calling
voice. And Jerry would be there, close to her, Jerry who did not love
his wife, and was glad to have her go.
CHAPTER III
SMOLDERING EMBERS
Rosamund’s marriage was set for the end of May. There had been
great preparations for the event, which was to be the most brilliant
one of its kind that had ever taken place in the town or state. A costly
trousseau had been ordered from San Francisco. It was understood
that the wedding breakfast was to come from the same place and be
the most sumptuous and elaborate ever given in Virginia. Men heard
these rumors with surprise and once more wondered where Allen
was getting the money “to splurge with.” Even the astute Graceys
were puzzled. Only the Colonel was non-committal and looked on
quietly.
“Rosamund’s going to have the finest send-off I can give her,” Allen
said to him a week before the wedding. “It’s the best I can do for her.
It’s a good thing Harrower’s only here for a few days.”
The Colonel felt like adding it was an extremely good thing, as
otherwise Harrower might be called upon to pay for the splendor of
his own nuptials. Twenty-five thousand dollars would not go far with
a man, who, with debts pressing on every side, was spending money
as Allen was in giving Rosamund a fine “send-off.”
A week before the day set Harrower arrived and took up his
residence at the International Hotel. It was a feverish, over-crowded
week, full of bustle and fussy excitement. There were people
constantly at the Murchison mansion and Allen was constantly out of
it. Had Harrower been more versed in the ways of the American
parent he would have realized that his future father-in-law was
avoiding him. But the young man, who thought everything in the
place curious and more or less incomprehensible, regarded his
behavior as merely another evidence of the American father’s habit
of letting his children manage their own affairs. He did not like Allen
and wanted as quickly as possible to get through the spectacular
marriage, and take Rosamund away to the peace of his ancestral
acres and the simple country life they both loved.
To June this last week was a whirl of days and nights, reeling by over
a dragging, ceaseless sense of pain. To both girls the separation
was bitter, but Rosamund, passing into the arms of an adored
husband, for the first time in a life of unselfishness, did not enter into
her sister’s feelings. She spoke often of the visit June was to pay
them next winter. Lionel was as anxious as Rosamund for her to
come. The bride and groom were to travel on the continent for part of
the summer and then visit his people, introducing Rosamund to her
new relations. But by November they would be settled in Monk’s
Court—that was Lionel’s home—and then June was to come.
Rosamund even hinted at a cousin of Lionel’s, a “very decent chap”
Lionel had said, who was rich and single and “just the right sort for
June.”
There were six months between now and then, six short months to
Rosamund beginning a brilliant new life with her lover; and six long
months to June alone in the mining city, surrounded by the gray
desert.
The wedding day came and the excitement quieted down to the
sudden hush of that solemn moment when the voice of a priest
proclaims a man and a woman one. The ceremony was performed in
the house, Lionel, after some qualms, having agreed to it. June
stood beside her sister in the alcove of the bay-window and listened
to the words which pledged her to a man of another country and to a
life in a distant land. Rosamund was pale as she turned from the
clergyman to greet the guests that pressed round her. It was a
sacred moment to her, the giving of herself in its fullest and deepest
significance to the man she loved, till death should part them.
It was beyond doubt a very brilliant wedding. The house, hung with
flowers—every blossom sent up from San Francisco wrapped in
cotton wool—lost its bare, half-furnished look and became a bower.
The costumes of the women—many imported from Paris—were in all
cases costly and in some beautiful. The men, who squeezed past
one another on the stairway and drank champagne in corners, stood
for more wealth than the whole of the far West had known till the
discovery of the Cresta Plata and the Big Bonanza. The millions that
the arid state was pouring out in a silver stream were well
represented in the Murchison mansion that afternoon.
Rosamund
The breakfast seemed to June a never-ending procession of raised
champagne glasses and toasts. She had a vision of the Colonel’s
white head bent toward Rosamund over the low-bowled, thin-
stemmed glass in which the golden bubbles rose, and of the husky
note in his voice as he wished her joy. She saw her father, with
reddened face and bloodshot eyes, rise to his feet, and with the
southern fervency of phrase, which he had never lost, bid his
daughter God-speed and farewell, the glass shaking in his hand.
Harrower stood up beside his bride, her listening face fair and
spiritual between the drooping folds of her veil, and said a few words
of thanks, halting and simple, but a man’s words nevertheless.
Then the time came for the bride to go up stairs for the change of
dress. The guests made a path for her, and June followed the tall
figure with its long, glimmering train.
They said little as Rosamund took off her wedding finery and donned
her traveling dress. But at the door of the room they clasped each
other in a dumb embrace, neither daring to speak. As she
descended Rosamund drew her veil down to hide her tears. Her lips
were quivering, her heart was rent with the pain of the parting. June
came behind her, calm and dry-eyed, the bleak sense of depression
that she had felt for weeks closing round her black and heavy. Part
of herself—the strong, brave part—seemed to be torn away from her
with the going of the sister, upon whom she had always leaned.
She stood on the balcony and waved her hand as the carriages
drove away toward the station. Most of the guests went with them to
see the bride and groom off. A stream of people poured down the
stairs, laughing, chattering, calling back good-bys to June, as she
stood by the door, pale but resolutely smiling. She noticed the three
tall figures of the Colonel and the Gracey brothers as they crossed
the street together, the Colonel turning to wave his hand to her. Her
father had gone before them. Finally everybody had left, and she
turned slowly back into the deserted house.
How empty is was! Her footsteps echoed in it. She passed into the
parlor, into which, from the broad bay-window the afternoon light
poured coldly. Linen had been stretched over the carpet, and on this
white and shining expanse the broken heads of roses and torn
leaves lay here and there. The flowers in the recess where the bride
and groom had stood were already fading, and the air was heavy
with their dying sweetness.
She looked into the dining-room at the expanse of the rifled table,
where the mounds of fruit had been broken down by eager hands
and the champagne bubbles rose languidly in the half-filled glasses.
There were no servants about and the perfect silence of the house
was more noticeable in this scene of domestic disorder. She had
ascended the stairs and was looking out of a back window when she
saw its explanation. From the kitchen entrance the servants, headed
by the chef brought up from San Francisco for the wedding, stealthily
emerged. Struggling into their coats and hastily jamming on their
hats they ran in straggling line in the direction of the depot, intent, as
the rest of the world, on seeing the bride depart. Last of all the
Chinaman issued forth, and setting his soft felt wide-awake on his
carefully uprolled queue, stole with soft-footed haste after them.
Nothing can be more full of the note of human desolation than an
occupied house suddenly vacated. June passed from room to room
feeling the silence as part of the depression that weighed on her.
Through the windows she could see the wild, morose landscape,
beginning to take on the hectic strangeness of tint that marked its
sunset aspect. Its weird hostility was suddenly intensified. It
combined with the silence to augment her sense of loneliness to the
point of the unendurable. She ran down the stairs and out on to the
curve of balcony which extended from the front door.
Some children were playing in the street below, and their voices
came to her with a note of cheer. Leaning listlessly against the
balustrade she looked up the street, wondering when her father
would be back. She had ceased to note his comings and goings, but
this evening she watched for his return as she might have done in
her childhood. There was no sign of him, and might not be for hours.
After the train left he would probably range about the town, whose
night aspect he loved.
She turned her head in the opposite direction, and her eyes became
suddenly fixed and her body stiffened. A man was coming down the
street, swinging lightly forward, looking over the tops of the houses
toward the reddening peak of the Sugar Loaf. There was only one
man in Virginia with that natural elegance of form, that carriage full of
distinction and grace.
For the first moment he did not see her, and in that moment June felt
none of the secret elation that had been hers in the past at sudden
sight of him. Instead, a thrill of repugnance passed through her, to be
followed by a shrinking dread. She moved softly back from the
balustrade, intending to slip into the hallway, when he turned his
head and saw her.
The old pleasure leaped into his face. She saw that he pronounced
her name. He flung a cautious look about him and then crossed the
road. With his hand on the gate he gazed up and said, with
something of secrecy in his air and voice:
“Have they all gone?”
June’s affirmative was low. Her repugnance had vanished. Her
desire to retreat had been paralyzed by the first sound of his voice.
“And they’ve left you all alone?”
The tone was soft with the caressing quality that to Jerry was second
nature when an attractive woman listened.
“Yes, they went to the station to see them off. I didn’t want to go, so I
stayed,” she returned stammeringly.
Jerry opened the gate.
“Can I come up?” he said in the lowest tone that would reach her
ear. “I hate to think of you all by yourself up there, and Rosamund
gone.”
June looked at him and murmured an affirmative that he could not
have heard, but he put his foot on the lowest step. She dropped her
eyes to her hands resting on the balustrade, while the beating of her
heart increased with his ascending footfall. When he had reached
her side she was trembling. In those few sentences from the bottom
of the stairs he seemed suddenly to have obliterated the past year.
The words were ordinary enough, but his eyes, his tone, his manner
as he now stood beside her, were those of the old Jerry, before
Mercedes had stolen him away.
She raised her eyes to his and immediately dropped them. The soft
scrutiny of his gaze—the privileged gaze that travels over and dwells
on a loved face, with no one to challenge its right—increased her
flushed distress. Jerry, too, was moved. For both of them the
moment was fraught with danger, and he knew it better than she.
“You’re all tired out,” he said, with his tender tone slightly hoarse.
“Let’s go in and sit down.”
She led the way through the hall, now beginning to grow dim with the
first evening shadows, into the long, bare parlor. There was a sofa
drawn up against the wall and on this she sat, while Jerry placed a
small gilded chair close in front of her.
“How deserted it looks!” he said, gazing about the room. “I suppose
everybody was here? I saw a perfect mob of people going down to
the station.”
“Yes, everybody went, even the servants. They stole away without
telling me. They didn’t even wait to clear the things off the table.
That’s why it’s so quiet.”
Both spoke rapidly to hide their agitation. The woman’s was more
apparent than the man’s. She kept her eyes down and Jerry watched
her as she spoke. It was the first time for over a year that he had had
a chance to scrutinize her at will. She had changed greatly. Her
freshness was gone, her face looked smaller than ever and to-day
was almost haggard. But Jerry had had his fill of beauty. She loved
him still, and she was the one woman of the three he had loved.
Ever since Mercedes had left him he had been telling himself this,
and the thought had been taking fiery possession of him, growing
more dominant each day.
“Rosamund’s made a fine marriage, hasn’t she?” he went on, with
more fluency. “Some day she’ll be Lady Rosamund, and won’t she
be a stunning Lady Rosamund? She’s made for it. Do you remember
the time when I was up at Foleys and you had the garden there?
What a lot has happened in these last four years.”
“Yes, a lot,” June assented. A broken rose-bud lay on the sofa
beside her. She picked it up and began to open its leaves.
“And who’d have supposed then that Rosamund was going to live in
England, and some day be Lady Rosamund?” There was a slight
pause, and he added in a lower voice, as if speaking to himself:
“Who’d have supposed any of the things were going to happen that
did?”
June pressed apart the rose petals in silence.
“Who’d have supposed I would have done the things that I have
done?” he said, speaking in the same low voice, but now it was
suddenly full of significance.
He was looking directly at her. His eyes called hers, and with the
rose-bud still in her hand, she looked into them for a long motionless
moment. It was a look of revelation. He saw her will, like a trapped
bird, fluttering and struggling in his grasp.
“You’re just the same, June,” he said on a rising breath.
“No, no,” she faltered, “I’ve changed in every way. You don’t know
how I’ve changed. I’m quite a different person.”
“But you haven’t lost faith in me?” he said, leaning nearer to her.
She drew back, pressing her shoulders against the sofa, and gazing
at him with a sort of suspended apprehension. He did not seem to
notice her shrinking and went on impetuously:
“You understand if there were mistakes and errors and—and—and—
miserable misunderstandings, that I was led into them. I was a blind
fool. Mercedes never cared for me. She told me so three months
after we were married. She left me of her own free will. She was glad
to go, and I—well, I’ll tell you the truth, June—I wasn’t sorry.”
His face was full of angry confession. He had had no intention of
talking to her in this way, but now he suddenly wanted to reinstate
himself in her good opinion and be soothed by her sympathy. She
stopped him.
“Don’t talk about it. It’s done. If you made a mistake, it’s done, and
that’s the end. Oh, Jerry, don’t talk about it.”
She rose to her feet; the room was getting dim. Outside the royal
dyes of sunset had faded from the sky and the twilight was softly
settling.
“I’ll have to light the gas,” she stammered. “The servants haven’t
come in yet. This half-light makes me blue.”
Jerry stood aside as she went to the mantel and from among the
embanked flowers drew the matchbox. The chandelier hung just
above his head draped with garlands of smilax. It was high and as
June came forward with the lighted match, he stretched out his hand
to take it from her. They were close together under the chandelier as
their hands touched. Each felt the tremulous cold of the other’s
fingers and the match dropped, a red spark, between them.
With suddenly-caught breath Jerry stretched his arms out to clasp
her but she drew back, her hands outspread before her, crying,
“Don’t, Jerry, don’t! Oh, please don’t!”
She backed away from him and he followed her, not speaking, his
face set, his arms ready to enfold her. She was stopped in her recoil
by the sofa, and standing against it she looked at him, with agonized
pleading, whispering,
“Don’t, Jerry. Oh, please go. Please go and leave me! You loved me
once.”
He stopped, stood looking at her for a moment of stricken
irresolution, then turned without a word and left the room.
June fell on the sofa, her face in her hands. She heard his step in the
passage, then sharp on every stair as he ran down to the street. In
the darkening room she sat trembling, her face hidden, alone in the
empty house.
CHAPTER IV
A WOMAN’S “NO”
Rion Gracey called on June as the Colonel had suggested, called
again the week after, and in a short time formed a habit of dropping
in every Sunday evening. He generally found the Colonel there, and
in the first stages of reopening the friendship the elder man had been
very convenient in relieving the meetings of the constraint which was
bound to hover over them. But as the spring Sundays passed and
the constraint wore away, Rion did not so thoroughly appreciate the
presence of his friend. With surprise at his own subtility—for the
mining man was of those who go forcefully over obstacles, not
around them—he discovered what evenings the Colonel did not dine
with June and began to make his appearance then.
He generally found her alone. She had made no effort to enlarge her
acquaintance, and after the wedding her father was constantly in
San Francisco or at more congenial haunts in the town. It raised
agitating hopes in Rion to see that she was openly and unaffectedly
glad to see him. There was a confidence, a something of trust and
reliance in her manner that—for him—had not been there before. He
thought she had never been so winning as she was on these lonely
evenings, when her face lighted at the sight of him, and her smile
was full of a soft welcome, touched with girlish shyness.
Women like to think that the beloved member of their sex plays so
filling and absorbing a part in the life of the enslaved man, that all
other matters are crowded from his mind. The interests of business
dwindle to the vanishing point, the claims of friendship have no place
in a heart out of which all else has been pushed. Love, while it lasts,
holds him in a spell, and then, if only then, the woman is a reigning
goddess.
Rion Gracey was not of this order of man. He had loved June since
his meeting with her at Foleys, but he had led a life so full of work
and business, so preoccupied with a man’s large affairs, that there
were periods of weeks when he never thought of her. Yet she had
been and was the only woman he had ever truly cared for and
ardently desired. Before his meeting with her women had been
merely incidents in his onward career. When, during the summer at
Foleys, he had come to know her, he had realized how different was
the place she would have taken in his life from the transitory
interests which were all he had so far known. Then, for the first time,
he understood what a genuine passion means to a genuine man.
When she had refused to marry him he had left her sore and angry.
But the crowded life in which he was so prominent a figure soon
filled with vital interests every moment of his days. His wound was
not healed, but he forgot its ache. He rigorously pushed the thought
of her from his mind. She was not for him, and to think of her was
weakness. Then he heard a rumor that Barclay was an admirer of
hers, and he shut his mouth and tried harder than ever not to think.
But time passed and June did not marry. Jerry, given his freedom,
married Mercedes. Rion, a man to whom small gossip was dull, a
thing to give no heed to as one walked forward, heard none of the
talk of Jerry’s change of heart. It filtered slowly into Virginia, which
was across the mountains in another state, and occupied in a big
way with big matters. Even Barney Sullivan, who was well primed
with San Francisco gossip after Mitty’s return from visits, “down
below,” did not mention to his chief anything of Miss Allen and Jerry
Barclay.
When he heard she was coming to Virginia the love-obsession that
the woman likes to believe in, came near taking possession of him.
For a day or two he was shaken out of the current of his every-day
life and found it hard to attend to his work. The thought of seeing her
again filled this self-contained and masterful man with tremors such
as a girl might feel at the coming of her lover. The first time he saw
her on C Street he found it difficult to collect his thoughts for hours
afterward.
The change in her, the loss of what good looks she had once
possessed, did not diminish or alter his feeling. If he had been asked
if he thought her pretty he would have honestly said he did not know,
he had never thought about it. He did not know how old she was, nor
could he cite any special points of beauty that his eye, as a lover,
had noted. Her only physical attribute that had impressed him was
her smallness, and this he had noticed because in walking with her,
her head only came to a little above his shoulder, and he was
sometimes forced to bend down to hear her.
He had been wondering what to do when the Colonel asked him to
call. Unless the suggestion had come from some one in authority he
never would have dared to go, for he was a lover at once proud and
shy, not of the kind who batter and browbeat a woman into
acquiescence. Her first meeting with him, dominated as it was by
mutual embarrassment, at least showed him that she was not
displeased to see him. Since then the meetings had been frequent,
her pleasure at his coming open for any one to see, and Rion’s
hopes, in the beginning but faint, had waxed high and exultant.
To June, he and the Colonel were the only two figures of an intimate
interest in her life. He seemed to fill its emptiness, to cheer its
isolation. She looked forward to his coming, hardly knowing why,
except that a sense of comfort and strength came with him. He was
often in her thoughts, and she found herself storing up small
incidents in her daily life to tell him, for no reason but that his
unspoken sympathy was pleasant. She felt the consciousness—so
sweet to women—that all which concerned her was of moment to
him. Now and then the Colonel’s past assertions that the girl who
married Rion Gracey would be happy, rose in her mind. She began
to understand that it might be so, and what it would mean, this strong
man’s love and protection guarding a woman against the storm and
struggle of the world, with which she personally was so unfitted to
cope.
One evening, a month after the wedding, he found her sitting on the
balcony reading. It had been warm weather for a day or two and the
windows and doors of the lower floor were thrown open, showing the
receding vista of dimly-lighted rooms and passages. She was
dressed in white and had a book he had given her lying open across
her knees. As the gate clicked to his opening hand she started and
looked down, then leaned forward, her face flushing, her lips parting
with a smile of greeting. It was a look that might have planted hope
in any man’s heart.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, gazing down on him as he
ascended. “I was just wondering if you would. When you want a
thing very much it never seems to happen. But now you’ve
happened, so I never can say that again.”
“Yes, I’ve happened,” he answered with the phlegmatic air with which
he hid his shyness. “Are you all alone again?”
“Yes, quite alone. But I’ve been reading the book you gave me and
it’s made me forget all about it. I’ve nearly finished it. It’s a splendid
book.”
“I’ll get you another to-morrow,” he said, leaning with his back
against the railing and looking at her with a fond intentness of which
he was unconscious. She was pretty to-night in her white dress and
with her cheeks flushed with pleasure at his coming. Rion, who did
not notice looks, noticed this, and it stirred his heart.
“Let’s go in,” he said. “There’s a sort of chill in the air. You mustn’t
catch cold. If you got sick you’d have to be sent down to San
Francisco. There’s no proper person here to take care of you.”
She rose and stood in front of him, half turned to go.
“Wouldn’t that be dreadful!” she said with careless lightness. “I
wouldn’t go. Uncle Jim would have to give up his work on the Cresta
Plata and take care of me.”
“We wouldn’t want you to go,” he answered, as he followed her into
the hall. “Anyway, I’d want to keep you here.”
She did not appear to notice the change of pronoun, nor the fact that
his voice had dropped on the last sentence. With her white dress
sweeping spectrally before him he followed her into the dim parlor.
Something in the intimacy of the still, soft dusk, and the sudden
wakening into imperious dominance of his feeling for her, made him
move away from her and about the room. Through the open door of
the dining-room he saw the white square of the table glimmering in
the twilight, with one place set, the crumpled napkin on the cloth, the
single wine glass, its lower half dark with wine, a scattering of
crimson cherries dotting the glaze of a plate.
“Did you dine alone, too?” he asked.
“Yes, father’s dining in town to-night and you or Black Dan sent the
Colonel into Empire till to-morrow.”
She looked round at him over her shoulder, the lighted match in her
hand sending a glow over her face, which was half-plaintive, half-
laughing.
“It’s very mean of you to send the Colonel away on nights when he
dines with me.”
“Well, honestly, I never thought about it,” stammered Rion, trying to
look contrite, but glad in his heart that the Colonel was, for this
evening at least, well out of the way. “And, anyway, it was Dan who
sent him. He thinks there are certain things nobody can do as well as
Parrish.”
“Of course he’s right about that,” she answered. “But he ought to
remember that one of the things the Colonel does best is to be
company for me.”
The gas was lit and she was adjusting the shade of a lamp on a side
table. As she spoke she looked over the bright chimney at him, with
the smile that held in it so much of melancholy.
“It’s pretty dreary for you here, isn’t it?” he said.
Her lips suddenly trembled and she bit the under one. For a moment
her control was shaken, and to hide it she bent over the lamp,
pretending to arrange the wick. The pause was heavy till she said in
her usual tone:
“Well, lately it has been rather lonely. It’s hard to get used to
Rosamund’s not being here.”
She crossed the room to the sofa and sat down in the corner of it,
Rion taking a chair near her. As she patted her skirt into satisfactory
folds, she said, her eyes fixed on her arranging hand,
“It takes a person a long time to get used to some one they care for
going so far off. I sometimes wonder if they ever do.”
He looked at her, murmuring some casual response, his mind not on
his words. Against the sheer white of her dress a locket she wore
suspended round her neck by a narrow black velvet, caught and lost
the light as her breast rose and fell. He was conscious of its regular
gleam, of the darkness of her hand against the white folds of her
skirt, of the slim smallness of her figure reclining in the angle of the
sofa.
Another pause fell between them, this time uncomfortable with a
sense of extreme constraint; June’s hand ceased moving and joined
its companion in her lap. She raised her eyes timidly and met his,
intent, motionless, fixed deeply upon her. The locket rose brightly
into the light on a sharply caught breath.
“Why did Black Dan send the Colonel into Empire?” she faltered.
“Do you remember what I asked you more than two years ago in San
Francisco?” was his answer.
She tried to temporize and said nervously,
“Two years back is a long way to remember.”
“I asked you to marry me, and you said no. Do you remember?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to ask you the same thing again.”
“Oh, Rion!” she murmured in an imploring undertone.
“I can only say the same things I said then. I’m not a smooth talker,
like some of the men you’ve known. I want you for my wife, and I’ll
do everything I can to make you happy. That’s about the whole
thing.”
She rose with some broken words he did not catch and passed
round behind the sofa, where she stood, her hand resting on the
back, her face averted. He rose, too, but made no attempt to
approach her.
“I don’t know much about women,” he continued. “I don’t know how
to talk to them. You’re the only one of them I’ve ever felt this way to;
and I’m pretty sure I’ll never feel so to any other. I love you. I’ve tried
to stop it and I can’t. It’s stronger than I am.”
She made no reply, and after waiting a moment, he said, his voice
slightly hoarse:
“Well, say something to me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, her face turned away.
He made a step toward the sofa, and as she heard him, she drew
back as if frightened. He stopped instantly, regarding her with a
sudden frowning fixity of suspicion and anger.
“Don’t you care for me, June?” he said.
“Yes, yes, of course—so much, so much more than I used to. But,
Rion—”
She turned and looked at him, one of her hands raised as if to ward
him off. He started forward to seize the hand, but she quickly drew it
back and clasped it round the locket.
“Not that way,” she faltered, “not the way you want.”
“Are you going to say no to me again?”
“Oh, Rion!” she pleaded.
“Do you care for me? Answer. Don’t beat about the bush.”
“I care for you immensely. I’ve always cared for you, but lately it’s
been something quite different, something much deeper. You’ve
been so kind to me.”
“Never mind about my kindness, do you love me?”
“I—but—no—not—” she stammered a series of disconnected words,
and came to a stop.
He took a step nearer to her and said in an authoritative voice,
“Answer me. Will you be my wife?”
“I can’t,” she said, in the lowest tone he could hear.
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