What Will People Say? A Novel

think we women expect it of you. Some of us do, I suppose; but I don't like it. And it doesn't seem quite what I had expected of you." He got a little comfort from the thought that she had taken the trouble, at least, to form an opinion of him. But mainly he admired her for the continued good sportsmanship of her attitude. There was a kind of manliness about it, as if one gentleman should say to another: "Pardon me, but you are trespassing on my property. It was a natural mistake, but I thought you'd like to know my boundary line." And yet something was gone from her warmth. She danced with him, chatted, laughed. But a chill was upon her. That little bloom of tenderness that had softened her words as the down velvets the peach, had vanished. Frost had nipped the firstling of spring. Forbes was infinitely repentant, rebuffed, but not routed. He began once more to scout along her outposts. "That hat you wore, you remember, day before yesterday?" "Yes." "I told you how I followed it." "Yes." "My heart ran after you like a newsboy calling to you. But you didn't hear." "I'm so sorry!" "All of a sudden you spoke to your driver, and he put on full speed up the Avenue, as if you were in a great hurry. I had a funny idea that you might be making haste to meet some man." "Let me see! Yes, I was. I was hurrying home to meet Willie. He is always furious when I am late." This time the name of Enslee was like a blow in the face. It dazed Forbes with a confirmation of his worst fears. He did not realize that he thought aloud: "I guessed right! I knew it was a man, and I was jealous." Persis stared up at him. She smiled incredulously. "You were jealous? But you hadn't even seen me." "No, but I wanted to see you. I felt you in the air. And I was jealous." His eyes were laughing into her laughing eyes. But both of them were a trifle solemn at heart. Forbes determined to learn how her affairs stood with Enslee. He could never have found the temerity to demand the information if the music had not flared with such dare-deviltry. "Would you mind if I asked you one very personal question?" he said. "Not if you'll look the other way when I answer it." "Are you engaged to Willie Enslee?" The question was so unexpected and so forthright that it almost staggered her. She flashed one look up into his earnest eyes and laughed; but it was a cold laugh. "You are the most amazing piece of impudence I ever met." "You haven't answered." "What difference could it make to you?" "All the difference in the world. It is a matter of the utmost importance to me." "Why?" "Because if you are not--" The music was the most inconsequential jig, and their feet were frolic, but his voice was solemn as a prayer. "If you are not, I want to--to tell you that you have--you are--that--well, my heart is at your feet." "Watch out, then, for I can't see my feet, and my heels are sharp." "Won't you be serious?" "You are the frivolous one. You've only just met me; you don't know anything about me, nor I about you, yet you talk this talk." "I've known you long enough to know that you are--" "Oh no, you haven't. You've only seen me with my party manners on." "But you--you--oh, I can't talk to this music. Will you sit down a moment somewhere?" "No, indeed. I came here to dance, and I wish you would stick to your knitting." "You haven't answered my question. Are you engaged to that man?" "Oh, so he is 'that man' already?" "Are you going to marry him?" "I'm no prophet, Mr. Forbes." The medley broke into the ribald tune of a popular song: a woman's celebration of the generosity of her keeper whom she called "Daddy," and who always brought her gifts. The refrain was a disgustingly irresistible hilarity: "Here comes my Daddy now, Pop, oh, Pop, oh Pop!" Half the dancers shouted the refrain as they whirled. Forbes' heart selected from the sordid lyric only its rejoicing. He selected from Persis' words only the hope they negatively implied. He began to dance in a frenzy, locking knee to knee, whipping her off her feet, and clenching her sweet body so close to him that she gasped: "I have to breathe, you know." "Forgive me," he murmured into the curls about her ear. "But you're a wonderful thing!" "Am I?" she laughed, but with a sort of patient indifference. "I'm mad about you." "Are you?" "I wish I dared to tell you that I love you." "I hope you won't." "Men are always telling you that?" "No--not always--once or twice." She was so far away, though in his arms, that her voice seemed to come to him across a long wire. "Did you love any of them?" "No." "Are you sure?" "There's nothing I'm surer of than that." "Does that mean that you are not engaged to Mr. Enslee?" She laughed again. "Not necessarily." CHAPTER XX Forgiveness and garters lose their snap when they are stretched too often. Once before Forbes had apologized to Persis for an excess of enthusiasm, and her forgiveness had brought back her cordiality with perfect elasticity. The second time there had been a slight sag. The boundary between the impertinence of a cad and the privilege of a suitor is vague and wavering. The act that is accepted as a manifestation of devotion, a pretty caress, from the accepted lover becomes a liberty from the libertine. In his ardor Forbes had overstepped the dead-line. There was no especial reason why the pressure of foot upon foot should be a less poetic tribute than a lingering clasp of the hands. But thinking makes it so, and when Forbes put his best foot forward, Persis resented it as a familiarity, an affront. It meant in her eyes that he held her cheap and easy. It was like her to be less angry with him than with herself. She reasoned that if a man she had just met could so speedily rate her so low, there must be some appalling fault in her manner. Her self-confidence was shaken. But just as she had set Forbes in the category of men with whom a woman must be on her guard, he spoke of being jealous of her, and his very eyes and the flush on his cheeks shouted that he meant it. There is, perhaps, no other tribute a woman prizes so highly as jealousy. Other tokens of esteem may be silver, gilt, or plated ware, but jealousy is the hallmark of sincerity; jealousy is at least eighteen karats fine. The moment Forbes said he had been jealous, and by his eager questions, by their very insistent impertinence, indeed, proved that he was now jealous, he became important to Persis. The fervor of his previous actions was almost justified. Even the intrusion upon her foot was a different act. Women usually think that love excuses almost everything, and sanctifies what were else ridiculous or disgusting. They absolve the sinner who can plead, "I was in love," more easily than the self-righteous abstainer. Besides, there was something uncanny to Persis in Forbes' statement that he had followed her up the Avenue, and had felt a jealousy of her haste; because that had been a momentous day altogether. She had begun it by a shopping raid. She had run across a flock of new hats, curious oddities from Paris, perched like strange birds alighted in a window. They pulled down so far on one side that they blinded one eye of the wearer, and they thrust out so far to the rear and the side that they blinded the passer-by. As she was trying one of them on, she turned her head to speak to the rhapsodical manager. She swept the face of the saleswoman till she sneezed; and when Persis turned to apologize to the saleswoman, the manager found himself inhaling exotic goura. It was fascinating. She simply must have some of these hats. But there had been a very polite note with her last bill, a timid plea that she pay a trifle on the venerable debt. She hardly dared increase the sum instead of diminishing it. She decided to ask her father's help. The price was beyond her own private bank-account, which was usually chaotically overdrawn, and which the bank carried along with an amused patience, because her father was one of its oldest customers. Determined to have those hats that day or die, Persis had ridden all the way to her father's office in Broad Street to ask him to buy them. She had found him in great distress. Before she could explain her errand, he had said, with a smile that was pitifully brave: "I needn't ask what evil motive brings you down here. It was just to tell your old father how much you love him." "Yes, of course; you know how I worship you." She sat on the arm of his chair with a smile as alluring as a mining-stock prospectus. "Also, I thought you'd like to know that I've struck the most wonderful hats ever imported. They're marked down to almost nothing, and they're really an amazing bargain--especially when you deduct the cost of an ocean voyage, for I couldn't equal them this side of Paris." He shook his head with a helpless finality that gave her pause. This terrified her. He had refused her something! She knew that the only things that would prevent him from giving her money were absence of funds and inability to borrow them. He explained, tenderly: "I'm in a lot of trouble, honey. I've got to shift some of my loans to other banks, and I've got to borrow a lot more somewhere. And I don't know where. I'm sorry to tell you, but you'd better know." She soothed him with loving terror. She told him how little she really cared for the hats; she wanted them only because everybody else had them. The hat she had on would do for a while. It had been so far in advance when she bought it that it was quite good style now--not the very latest, of course, but still good enough since he was feeling poor. He told her that she need not worry; everything would come out all right. He was just a little pinched for the moment. But he kissed her very devoutly, and sighed and told her how beautiful she was and how dear to him. She returned to her car, and ordered the driver home. It was a long journey up the canon of Broadway, a plank road for miles, since a subway was burrowing underneath. She had ample time to figure out just what it meant to her to be poor. They had been pinched before. Her father was the fourth generation of wealth, and the inheritance of financial genius was wearing out in the family. Cold flashes of fright ran through Persis as the car rumbled and swerved. Then she remembered that Willie Enslee was to call upon her that afternoon. He had said that he had something very important to say, and she had laughed inly, knowing just what he meant. He was so ridiculous in his love. But now she thought of him as a salvation. She resolved to be sensible and cut the silly romance out of her hopes. She could save her father, and have all the hats in the world. She must not keep Willie waiting. He might not wait. It was in this mood that Forbes had first seen her and her old hat from the bus. At home she had found Willie. As she walked into the drawing-room he was pacing up and down rehearsing his proposal in whispers. He went into a blue funk at the sight of her, and she had the greatest difficulty in coaxing him to propose. Then she accepted him with proper surprise. Willie had brought the ring--a wonderful composition by Rene Lalique. Fashion had changed enough to permit an engagement ring to be something besides a solitaire diamond. This poem in gold had cost him more than Forbes' salary for two years. Persis had worn it when she met Forbes that same night at the theater. She had worn it when she taught him to turkey-trot. It was the edge of that ring that had cut her finger till it bled under the fierce grip of Forbes' hand at the performance of "Tristan and Isolde."