What Will People Say? A Novel

Thoughts like this danced through Persis' mind now, while her body danced in Forbes' arms. And Forbes was talking of his jealousy! Forbes was different from Willie in so many ways. He could be loved. She did not love him now. But he was of the type that women love. She wondered, rather helplessly, if she were going to love him. She certainly could never love Willie, and no woman wants to die without loving somebody. She would not be indiscreet, of course, or disloyal in any important way. But--After all, she might not marry Willie. She might marry Mr. Forbes. All things were possible. Why not this? He would be a husband worth having--a soldier, a gentleman, a lover, distinguished--nobody would laugh if she went up the aisle with him. Luckily Forbes had money. He was surely not so rich as Willie. But then Persis was not mercenary. She wanted only a reasonable amount--just enough to keep up with the procession, have a fresh hat now and then, and some gowns and a contemporary car, and a place in town and a place out of town, and enough to go abroad on every summer, and South every winter, and a few things like that. Surely Mr. Forbes must have enough money for such a simple household. Of course, she would not marry him, and it might be dangerous to play with fire; but it would be pitiful never to go near the fire. Worse, it would be pusillanimous. Now that she had accepted Willie, it was certain that she was not to have love in her life unless she took it outside. Not all of this Cubist chaos of meditation went on during the brief remainder of the dance. But it began there, and it was small wonder if the logic had a little rag-time in it; as for instance: Since Persis and Willie had agreed not to announce their engagement just yet, this justified lying to a lot of people; for one surely had a right to evade a question that nobody had a right to ask. Of course, if Forbes were really in love with Persis he had a right to ask. But if she told him, then he would stop loving her; at least he would stop seeing her. She knew the man. And she didn't want him to stop seeing her. He was really very nice! He was a box of matches. She would not strike a light. Or perhaps she might strike one; but she would let it burn only a moment, and then blow it out and not light another. Besides, she was not an official fiancee till it was announced. And Mr. Forbes danced so wonderfully--oh, Lord, it was a sad world. Yet it was very comfortable, dancing in this man's arms. Meanwhile he was pounding at the door of her heart again: "Are you going to ride in Central Park to-morrow--this morning?" he said. "Yes." "Rain or shine?" "Yes." "May I ride there, too?" "It's not my park." "That's not very encouraging." "Isn't it? Well, haven't you been a trifle discouraging yourself?" "I'm terribly sorry," he pleaded; and she surprised him by sighing: "I'm rather glad." "Glad? Why?" "Because I had come dangerously near to feeling that you were--different." "I am," he cried, stung by the deep significance of her light regret. "Please let me prove it. Please let me ride with you in the park?" "I'll be with my father, you know," she answered, with a trace of relentment. "It's my only chance to visit with the poor old boy. You'd better not." "But some day you will ride with me?" "Maybe." "To-morrow may I stand on the bridge and watch you go by?" "The park is open to the public at all hours." "Would you mind if I got a horse and rode by and said 'Good morning!'" "Fine. Come along. I'll introduce you to my father." "I'll be there!" CHAPTER XXI Persis had not misjudged Forbes. If she had told him then that she was another man's betrothed, he would have changed his whole attitude toward her. He would have flirted with her no more. He would have ceased to regard her with ambition or desire. She would have become again only another piece of jewelry in a shop-window--beautiful, but not for him; beautiful, but already bespoken. He was not of the covetous and burglarious type that always wants other people's property. Equally, the romance would have ended before it began if Forbes had told Persis that he was not rich, as Ten Eyck had carelessly assumed. Persis might have liked him and admired him and been great friends with him; but she would not have admitted him to the anteroom that all hearts have where those eligible to the inner soul are first admitted to wait their time. Persis did not make a test of money any more than the rest of her set did. Many enormously wealthy strugglers were wasting coin and labor in a vain effort to bribe a smile from these really unimportant persons. Many poor artists, actors, authors, town wits, were welcomed to their boon companionship. These latter paid their way by bringing along their charm or notoriety as their contribution to the picnic. But they rarely married into the set. In spite of all the talk of snobbery and wealth-worship, it is really very simple. People are people, and classes are merely clubs where more or less congenial neighbors coagulate, more or less haphazard. Those that cannot pay the dues drop into other clubs. Even labor-unions are run in that way. And in classes as well as in clubs two kinds of persons are most offensive: those who try to force their way in unsolicited, and those who do not keep up their end of the expenses. The social struggler and the man who never stands treat when it comes his turn are welcome nowhere, from the slums up. Some such thought as this came by coincidence into Forbes' mind. He realized suddenly that he was accepting a deal of hospitality and repaying none. He knew that he could do nothing to dazzle these people, but he could not endure to take their favors as charities or tips. He was wondering vaguely just what he could do when the problem was solved for him. He was resolved not to relinquish what he had gained in Persis' esteem. He would cling to her, keep at her heels, till the chance came to prove how dear he held her. He had dropped the question of her betrothal to Enslee, sure that it was a paradox. Now he realized that he had no further promise of meeting Persis except on horseback and with her father alongside. He put forth an antenna. "Am I ever going to see you again?" "I shouldn't be at all surprised," she answered, blowing neither cold nor hot. "To-morrow?" "Maybe." "Where?" "Oh, I'll probably be dancing at some tea-place or other, as usual." "Don't you ever stop dancing?" "Sometimes." "Could I see you one of those times?" "Why, yes, of course." "When?" "Oh, almost any time." "Any time is no time." "I haven't my engagement-book here. I can't remember." He was hoping that she would ask him to call, but she failed to take the hook. He surprised himself by saying with an abrupt rashness: "Will you take lunch with me to-morrow?" He had a vision of a charming little hour alone with her in the solitude made by a crowd. She missed the point, and asked: "Do you mean all of us?" "I suppose I do. I reckon I wouldn't dare ask you alone." "I reckon you betta hadn't," she said, mocking his accent as best she could. "When will you-all come?" "Oh, it would be right smart of a job to get us-all together at the same time." He smiled at her burlesque, but persisted: "How would you like to--to give the party and order the fodder? I'm just back from the Philippines, you know. I could get up a mess for my company, but I'm afraid I couldn't feed you people to your liking." "Oh, nobody eats anything any more, or drinks much of anything." "All the more reason for having what you do have right. Won't you order it for me, and tell me where to have it?" She was tempted to seize the chance. It was a delight to her to compose a meal. It was a kind of millinery or dressmaking in its art of arrangement. She checked herself on the brink of acceptance, realizing that it would set people to talking if she conducted Forbes' entertainments for him. Even Willie, who was neither very observing nor very jealous, would raise a row at that. "I'll tell you," she said. "Ask Mrs. Neff to be the hostess. You're under some obligations to her, and none to me." "May I ask her to order the luncheon, too?" said Forbes, with dwindled enthusiasm. "Oh no; you must do that!" "I'm afraid I don't know what to have." "It's the simplest thing in the world. Just go to the Ritz-Carlton and ask for Fernand. Tell him I'm coming, and I said for him to take good care of you--of us. And now let's see who can come." She strolled about with him while he made his invitations. Everybody had engagements of various sorts, but they were brittle. Mrs. Neff was flattered immeasurably, and asked if she could bring Alice along. She was afraid to leave her lest she connive with Stowe Webb at some escapade. Bob Fielding could not come so far up-town from his office, and Winifred could be present only if she were permitted to be late. "I'm not allowed to eat anything, anyway," she moaned, "except a little dried toast and some lemon-juice; and the waiters treat me like a dog. But I'll be there if you'll protect me." Ten Eyck had planned to run down to Piping Rock, but he would not desert Forbes in his hour of peril. Willie had an important engagement with one of the executors of his father's estate, but he quickly shifted it when he found that Persis was to be present. This made seven all told, four women and three men. "I could get more if you want," said Persis; "but seven is lucky, and more is no fun." "Seven is just right," said Forbes, with a little premonitory chill at the thought of the probable cost. It was finally agreed that they were to lunch late, take a little spin round town, and then turkey-trot again in the afternoon. Forbes was amazed at himself. Now he was to play the host, and Persis was to be at his elbow! Or should he put her opposite him, as if she were his wife? What a decoration she would be at a man's home table! The word "home" took a new timbre in his soul. Hitherto home had meant the tall, white columns and broad lawns where his mother lived. Now it began to mean almost any place--soldiers' quarters, hotel--any place where Persis would rest awhile. Even the humming-bird has a nest to go to when its wings are tired. Some day Persis must nest, too. Her wings could not beat on forever. CHAPTER XXII There had come to be more and more room on the floor as the crowd dispersed slowly. Many of the young owls were by daylight bank-clerks and office assistants, learning their father's trades of money. They were remembering that they must be up betimes in the morning. They had been campaigning all winter on short rations of sleep. If they made up lost slumber anywhere, it was at their desks, to which nothing but a spanking cold bath could have roused them day after day. They were glad now when their demoiselles confessed to fatigue, too, or the mothers began to mention the hour. Even Mrs. Neff was a trifle groggy. The poor old soul was trying hard to keep from confessing how tired and sleepy she was. She kept herself young by pretending to be young, and her motto was, "A woman is just as old as she says she is." Though, for the matter of that, if her statement of her age had been correct, her eldest son must have been born before she was; and Alice would have come along when her mother was about eight years old. Persis was growing drowsy-eyed, too, and heavy-limbed, with an almost voluptuous longing for sleep. She drooped like a flower at sunset. She ceased to smuggle her yawns as sighs, and once or twice she forgot to lift her hand to hide them.