Kismet by Lucy M Montgomery

Books at bedtime by calming anxiety. Kizmet by Lucy Montgomery. The fifth heat in the free for all was just over. Lulu had won, and the crowd on the grandstand and the hangers on around the track were cheering themselves horse.

Clear through the noisy glamour, shrill the woman's cry. "Ah, I've dropped my scorecard." A man in front of her turn. I have an extra one madam, will you accept it?

Her small, modestly gloved hands closed eagerly on it before she lifted her eyes to his face. Both started, convulsively. The man turned very pale, but the woman's ripe tinted face coloured darkly. "You," she faltered.

Her lips parted in the coldly grave smile she remembered and hated. "You are not glad to see me," he said calmly. "But that, I suppose, was not to be expected." "I did not come here to annoy you."

This meeting is unexpected to me as to you. I had no suspicion that for the last half an hour I'd been standing next to mine. She interrupted him with an impurious gesture. Still clutching the scorecard, she half turned from him.

Again, he smiled, this time with a tinge of scorn, and shifted his eyes to the track.

One of the people around them had noticed this little bi-play. All eyes were on the track, which was being cleared for the first heat of another race. The free-for-all horses were being led away blanketed. The crowd cheered Lulu as she went past.

A shapeless oddity. The backers of mascot, the rival favourite, they looked gloomy. A woman noticed nothing of this at all. She was small, very pretty, still young, and gowned in a quite unmistakable way.

She studied the man's profile, vertically. He looked older than when she had seen him last. There were some silver threads gleaming in his close-clip dark hair and his sharp-pointed beard. Otherwise, there was a little change in the quiet features and somewhat stern grey eyes.

She wondered if he had cared at all. They had not met for five years. She shut her eyes and looked it on her past. In all it came back very vividly.

He had been eighteen when they were married, a gay, high-spirited girl and season's beauty. He was much older and quiet, a serious student. Her friends had wondered why she married him. Sometimes she wondered herself, but she had loved him or thought so.

Their marriage had been an unhappy one. When he was fond of society and gayity, he wanted quiet and seclusion. She was impulsive and impatient. He deliberate and grave.

The strong will clashed. After two years of an unbearable sort of life they had separated, quietly and without scandal of any sort. She had wanted a divorce, but he would not agree to that, so she had taken her own independent fortune and gone back to her own way of life. The following five years she had succeeded, in bearing all remembrance well out of sight.

No one knew if she was satisfied or not. The world was charitable to her and she lived a gay and quite irreproachable life. She wished that she had not come to the races. It was such an irritating encounter.

She opened her eyes wearily, the dusty track of flying horses, the gay dresses of women on the grandstand, the cloudless blue sky, the brilliant September sunshine. The purple distances all come engulfed into a glare that made her head ache. Before it all she saw the tall figure by her side. His face turned from her, watching the track intently.

She wondered, with vague curiosity what induced him to come to the races, such things were not greatly in his line. Evidently, their chance meeting had not disturbed him. It was a sign that he did not care. She sighed a little wearily and closed her eyes.

When the heat was over, he turned to her. May I ask how you've been since, since we last met. You are looking extremely well, has vanity fair paled in any degree. He was angry at herself and him.

Wear had her careless society manner and well-bred composure gone. She felt weak and hysterical. What if she would burst into tears before the whole crowd, before those coldly critical grey eyes? She almost hated him.

No, why should it? I have found it very pleasant and I have been well, very well, and you? He chopped it down the score carefully before he replied, "I, oh, a bookworm and recluse always leads a placid life. I never cared for excitement, you know.

I came down here to attend a sale of some rare editions and a well-meaning friend dragged me out to see the races. I find it rather interesting, I must confess. Much more so than I should have fancied. Sorry, I can't stay until the end.

I must go as soon as the free-for-all is over, if not before. I have back mascot. You? Lulu, she answered quickly.

If almost seen defined. How horribly unreal it was. She is carrying on a small talk as if they were the nearest of chance met acquaintances. She belongs to a friend of mine, so I am naturally interested.

She and mascot are ties now, both of one two heats. One more for either will decide it. This is a good day for the races. Excuse me.

He leaned over and brushed a scrap of paper from her grey cloak. She shivered slightly. You are cold, this stand is drafty. I am not cold, thank you.

What race is this? Oh, the three minute one. She bent forward with assumed interest towards the scoring. She was breathing heavily, there were tears in her eyes.

She bit her lips savagely and glared at the track until they were gone. Presently he spoke again in a low, even tone demanded by the circumstances. This is a curious meeting, is it not? Quite a flavour of romance, by the way.

Do you read as many novels as ever? She fancied there was mockery in his tone. She remembered how very frivolous he used to consider her novel reading. Besides, she resented to personal tinge, what right had he?

Almost as many she answered carelessly. I was very intolerant, wasn't I? He said after a pause. You thought so, you were right.

You have been happier since. You left me. Yes, she said defiantly, looking straight into his eyes. And you do not regret it.

He bent down a little, his sleeve brushed against her shoulder, something in his face arrested the answer she meant to make. I did not say that, she murmured faintly. There was a burst of cheering, the free-fold horses were being brought out of the succeed. He turned away to watch them.

The scoring began and seemed likely to have no end. She was tired of it all. It didn't matter if pinned to her whether Lulu or mascot one. What did matter?

Had vanity fair, after all, been a satisfying exchange for love. He had loved her once, and they had been happy at first. She had never before said, even in her own heart, "I am sorry." But suddenly, she felt his hand on her shoulder and looked up the eyes met.

He stooped and said almost in a whisper, "Will you come back to me?" "I don't know," she whispered breathlessly, as one half fascinated. We were both to blame, but either most, I was too hard on you. I ought to have made more allowances.

We are wise in our both of us. Come back to me, my wife. His tone was cold and his face expressionless. It was on her lips to cry out, "No," passionately.

But the slender, scholarly hand on her shoulder was trembling with the intensity of his repressed emotions. He did care. A wild caprice flashed into her brain. She sprang up.

"See," she cried, "they're off now. This heat will probably be to side the race. If Lulu wins, I will not go back to you. If mascot does, I will."

That is my decision. He turned paler, but bowed in a scent. She knew by bitter experience how unchangeable her whims were, how obstinately she clung to even the most absurd. She leaned forward breathlessly, the crowd hung silently on the track.

Lulu and mascot were neck and neck, getting in a splendid work. Half way round the course, Lulu forged half neck ahead and her backers went mad. But one woman dropped her head in her hands and dared look no more. One man with white face and set lips watched the track unswervingly.

Again, mascot crawled up inch by inch. They were on the home stretch. They were equal. The tri-airing broke out, then silence.

In another terrific burst, shouts, yells and clapping, mascot had won the free-for-all. In the front row, a woman stood up, swayed and shaken as a leaf in the wind. She straightened her scarlet hat and re-adjusted her veil, insteadly. There was a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes.

No one noticed her. A man beside her drew her hand through his arm in a quiet proprietary fashion. They left the grandstand together.