The Door Between Read Free Page A

was it to be – cyanide by moonlight?”
    The obnoxious creature moved up to her side; she felt him. But she kept looking at the water.
    “You’re not a writer,” said the young man reflectively. “Although the place is crawling with them. Too young, I’d say, and too desperate. The breed here to-night’s well-fed.”
    “No,” said Eva icily, “I’m not a writer. I’m Eva MacClure, and I wish you would go away from here as fast as you can.”
    “Eva MacClure! Old John’s daughter? Well!” The young man seemed pleased. “I’m glad you don’t belong to that crowd out there – I really am.”
    “Oh, you’re glad,” said Eva, hoping it sounded as nasty as she meant it to sound. “Really!” It was getting worse and worse.
    “Detest writers. Mumbo-jumbo artists, the whole crew. And not a good-looker in the crowd.”
    “Karen Leith is very beautiful!”
    “No woman’s beautiful past thirty. Beauty is youth. After that, make-up. What they call ‘charm’ … I’d say you could give your future stepmother cards and spades.”
    Eva gasped. “I think you’re the most – the rudest –”
    “I see ’em with their clothes off,” said the young man negligently. “Same as the rest of us that way – more so.”
    “You – what?” faltered Eva. She thought she had never met a more detestable person.
    “Hmm,” he said, studying her profile. “Moon. Water. Pretty girl studying her reflection … Despite the gloomy philosophy, I’d say there was hope.”
    “I don’t know why I’m talking to you,” said Eva in a muffled angry voice. “I’ve been watching the goldfish and wondering when the creatures sleep.”
    “What!” exclaimed the detestable young man. “Then it’s a worse case than I thought.”
    “Really –”
    “Looking into a pool under the moon and wondering when goldfish sleep! That’s a worse sign than wishing you were dead.”
    Eva turned to give him her most freezing stare. “May I ask just who you are?”
    “That’s better,” said the young man with satisfaction. “We always take a positive emotion, like anger, as a good sign in the morbid cases. I’m a man named Scott.”
    “Will you go away,” said Eva rudely, “or shall I, Mr. Scott ?”
    “You needn’t turn that pretty nose of yours up so. It’s the only name I ever had. Scott, Richard Barr. And it’s ‘Doctor,’although you may call me Dick.”
    “Oh,” said Eva in a small voice. “ That Scott.”
    She had heard of Dr. Richard Barr Scott. She could not have helped hearing about Dr. Richard Barr Scott, unless he had gone off to Patagonia. For some time her friends had been frothing slightly at the mouth over Dr. Richard Barr Scott, and it had become a cunning habit in many feminine quarters to visit Dr. Richard Barr Scott’s luxurious offices on Park Avenue. Even vigorous mothers had been known to come down suddenly with the most complicated ailments although from the way they all dressed for a visit to Dr. Scott’s one would have thought they were going to a cocktail party at the Ritz. The reports which reached Eva’s moody ears had been most enthusiastic.
    “So you see,” said Dr. Scott, looming over her, “why I was concerned. Purely professional reaction. Bone-to-a-dog business. Sit down, please.”
    “I beg your pardon!”
    “Sit down, please.”
    “Sit down?” murmured Eva, wondering how her hair looked. “What for?”
    Dr. Scott cocked an eye about. But except for the myriad fireflies and the tiny dinning voices, they were alone in that part of the Japanese garden. He placed a hard cool hand on Eva’s bare hand, and she was annoyed to feel goose-pimples. She rarely felt goose-pimples. So she froze him again and snatched her hand away.
    “Don’t be a child,” he said soothingly. “Sit down and take off your shoes and stockings.”
    “I’ll do nothing of the kind!” gasped Eva, surprised out of her dignity.
    “Take ’em off!” growled the large young man with sudden menace.
    Eva