Part 24 (1/2)

Dinner time found the boy quiet and preoccupied. If he hadn't been Jerry I should have said he was sullen. That he was not himself was certain. It was not until he had lighted his cigarette after dinner that he was sure enough of himself to speak.

”What made you talk of Una to Marcia, Roger?” he asked quietly.

”I didn't,” I said coolly. ”_You_ did, Jerry. And if I had, I can't see what it matters.”

”It does a little, I think. You see, Marcia knows who she is. Una gave a false name. She wouldn't care to have people know she had come in here alone.”

This was a reason, but of course not the real one. It wasn't like Jerry to mask his purposes in this fas.h.i.+on. I laughed at him.

”If you'll remember, Jerry, I mentioned no names.”

”But why mention the incident at all?”

”Because to tell the truth,” I said frankly, ”I thought Miss Marcia Van Wyck entirely too self-satisfied.”

He opened his eyes wide and stared at me. ”Oh!” he said.

And then after the pause:

”You don't like Marcia?”

”No,” I replied flatly, ”I don't.”

He paced the length of the room, while I sat by a lamp and ostentatiously opened the evening paper.

”I hope you realize,” he said presently, with a dignity that would have been ridiculous if it hadn't been pathetic, ”that Miss Van Wyck is a very good friend of mine.”

”Is she?” I asked quietly.

”Yes--I'm very fond of her.”

”Are you?” still quietly.

”Yes.” He walked the floor jerkily, made a false start or so and then brought up before me with an air of decision. ”I--I'm sorry you don't like her, Roger. I--I should be truly grieved if I--I thought you meant it. For I intend some day to ask her to be my--my--wife.”

It was as bad as that? I dropped pretense and the newspaper, folding my arms and regarding him steadily.

”Isn't this decision--er--rather sudden?” I asked evenly.

”I've loved her from the first moment I saw her,” he exclaimed. ”She is everything, everything that a woman should be. Amiable, charitable, beautiful, talented, intellectual.” He paused and threw out his arms with an appealing gesture. ”I can't understand why you don't see it, Roger, why you can't see her as I see her.”

I was beginning to realize that the situation was one to be handled with discretion. He was in a frame of mind where active opposition would only add fuel to his flame.

”I'm sorry that I've grown to be so critical, Jerry. You forget that I've never much cared for the s.e.x.”

It seemed that this was just the reply to restore him to partial sanity, for his face broke in a smile.

”I forgot, old Dry-as-dust. You don't like 'em--don't like any of 'em.

That's different. But you _will_ like Marcia. You _shall_. Why, Roger, she's an angel. You couldn't help liking her.”