Part 44 (1/2)
Benson shook her hand gratefully.
Zip rubbed his hands together in delight, wagging his bearded head.
”Goot, goot! Make de bretty kirls habby, eh? Vat apout it, hein? Trow in de shtockinks, eh?”
The two girls exclaimed furiously. Benson, laughing and roguish, defended the pedler from their wrath, protesting he was loaded with money, crazy to get rid of it, carrying his point in the end. Zip, recipient of a hundred-dollar bill, departed, grinning and wagging; nor did Mr. Benson, in the joyous delight of this newly permitted intimacy, for a moment suspect that the silks and laces which now lay so provokingly on the table would presently return to the pack of the histrionic Zip, at forty per cent. off for commission.
For the accuracy of historic customs, another detail must be added. When silk stockings were purchased, the color chosen was invariably pink, one pair of that color being in the cooperative possession, always at hand, to be borrowed hastily and worn for a convincing effect on the last purchaser.
Ten minutes later Josephus produced a card which Ida, on receiving, said:
”How stupid, Josephus! That's for Miss Baxter. Come on, Harry. Dodo's most particular and secretive--we won't embarra.s.s her, will we?” She opened the door of Winona's room, lingering a moment behind the laughing prop to whisper: ”Tell Tony to telephone this evening. Say I've called up from a studio--had to finish rush job--awful sorry! Be particular!”
She disappeared, locking the door for security's sake.
The next moment Mr. Tony Rex entered, in evident agitation and surprise--Ida and Harry Benson slipping down-stairs by the second stairway as Dore was saying glibly:
”Oh, Mr. Rex, Miss Summers has just telephoned! She wants me to tell you--”
But she proceeded no further. Mr. Tony Rex was watching her with a sarcastic smile.
”Come off! Don't hand me any _useless_ fibs, Miss Baxter! Ida's here; I took the precaution to find out! What's her little game to-day?”
Suddenly, as if struck by an idea, he moved to the window. Below, Ida Summers was just springing to her seat in the big yellow automobile.
Dore had no time to prevent him; in fact, she had momentarily lost her wits. One thing had startled her on his arrival--his shoes: patent leather with yellow tops--not chamois, but close enough to recall the dreadful wraith of Josh Nebbins.
”So she's chucked me for a stuffed image like Benson?” he said grimly.
”Oh, I know the owner; I asked the chauffeur!”
”What a terrible man!” she thought. Even in that he recalled that other persistent suitor! Aloud she said hastily, as he took up his hat:
”What are you going to do?”
He affected to misunderstand the question.
”Look here, Miss Baxter,” he said abruptly, ”I'm dead serious in this!
I'm going to marry that little kid, and it's going to happen soon!
Likewise, I'm a wise one, and I know just the game she's playing--and the dangers! Some of you can keep your heads--maybe you can and maybe you can't! She's nothing but a babe--she doesn't know! That's why I'm going to stop this fooling, P. D. Q.!”
”Look out! You can't drive a girl into things!” said Dore.
”Oh, yes, I can! Watch me!” he said confidently. ”Now, I'm going to find where they're lunching, buy up the table next, and see how jolly a little party Miss Ida'll have out of it, with me for an audience! Lesson number one!”
He was off in a rush before she could recover from her laughter. Left at last alone, she sought to return into herself, to adjust the Dodo of the day to the surprising self of the night before. It even struck her as incongruous that, after the depths she had sounded in the silence and loneliness of the world, she should now be forced to return to the superficiality of banter and petty intrigue. Lindaberry--she thought of him as of a great wounded animal lifting up to her a thorn-stricken paw.
He would come for her in a few minutes, according to agreement, and she half feared the encounter. Would it be disillusionment? Would all that had so enveloped her with the mystery and charity of human relations now dissipate thinly in the commonplace day? Had they been swayed simply by a pa.s.sing sentimentality, as he himself had feared? She did not know quite what she hoped. She did not feel the slightest sentimental inclination. She did not even attempt to dramatize herself as the good angel. She had only an immense curiosity as to herself, wondering if she had really discovered something new, if in fact it were possible for the same Dore, who selfishly, in will-o'-the-wisp fas.h.i.+on, enticed men on to mock their discomfiture, could open up a flood of womanly strength to one who came to her in weakness.
To return into the exaltation of the night was impossible. After all, the day was perhaps more real than the moods of dreams. She looked on the experience in a comfortable, satisfied way, always incredulous of her deeper moods, inclined to shun them with a defensive instinct that life was safer when lived on the surface.
But the night which had awakened so many dormant yearnings had brought back to her again the famine in her own soul. Lindaberry was yet confused, Ma.s.singale clear and insistent. She had arrived, at last, in her tortuous feminine logic, to the point where, in her longing, she was willing to ask herself if there were any excuse for what he had done. Once she sought to excuse him, she found small difficulty. He had been very much of a gentleman. She had led him on, tried him beyond what was right; and, even after the explosion, he had recovered himself, tried to leave in order to protect her. There had been a moment of weakness; but she had wished for that--yes, even compelled it. And then, he cared! Yes, that was the great thought that emerged from the confusion of the night: he cared! She knew it by the wound she had drawn across his eyes, by the tone of his voice when he had pleaded with her at the last. He cared, and he suffered as she suffered, fought as she fought, to remain away! But he was married--he belonged to another woman!