Part 22 (1/2)

Vivian started to her feet. She moved to the window and stood awhile; came back and kissed her friend warmly, and went away without another word.

The lady betook herself to her toilet, and spent some time on it, for there was one of Miss Peeder's cla.s.ses that night.

Mrs. St. Cloud danced with many, but most with Mr. d.y.k.eman; no woman in the room had her swimming grace of motion, and yet, with all the throng of partners about her she had time to see Susie's bright head bobbing about beneath Mr. Saunders down-bent, happy face, and Vivian, with her eyes cast down, dancing with Morton, whose gaze never left her. He was attention itself, he brought her precisely the supper she liked, found her favorite corner to rest in, took her to sit on the broad piazza between dances, remained close to her, still talking earnestly, when all the outsiders had gone.

Vivian found it hard to sleep that night. All that he had said of his new hope, new power, new courage, bore out Mrs. St. Cloud's bright promise of a new-built life. And some way, as she had listened and did not forbid, the touch of his hand, the pressure of his arm, grew warmer and brought back the memories of that summer night so long ago.

He had begged hard for a kiss before he left her, and she quite had to tear herself away, as Susie drifted in, also late; and Aunt Orella said they must all go to bed right away--she was tired if they were not.

She did look tired. This dance seemed somehow less agreeable to her than had others. She took off her new prettinesses and packed them away in a box in the lower drawer.

”I'm an old fool!” she said. ”Trying to dress up like a girl. I'm ashamed of myself!” Quite possibly she did not sleep well either, yet she had no room-mate to keep her awake by babbling on, as Susie did to Vivian.

Her discourse was first, last and always about Jimmie Saunders. He had said this, he had looked that, he had done so; and what did Vivian think he meant? And wasn't he handsome--and _so_ clever!

Little Susie cuddled close and finally dropped off asleep, her arms around Vivian. But the older girl counted the hours; her head, or her heart, in a whirl.

Morton Elder was wakeful, too. So much so that he arose with a whispered expletive, took his shoes in his hand, and let himself softly out for a tramp in the open.

This was not the first of his love affairs, but with all his hot young heart he wished it was. He stood still, alone on the high stretches of moonlit mesa and looked up at the measureless, brilliant s.p.a.ces above him.

”I'll keep straight--if I can have her!” he repeated under his breath.

”I will! I will!”

It had never occurred to him before to be ashamed of the various escapades of his youth. He had done no more than others, many others.

None of ”the boys” he a.s.sociated with intended to do what was wrong; they were quite harsh in judgment of those who did, according to their standards. None of them had been made acquainted with the social or pathological results of their amus.e.m.e.nts, and the mere ”Zutritt ist Verboten” had never impressed them at all.

But now the gentler influences of his childhood, even the narrow morality of Bainville, rose in pleasant colors in his mind. He wished he had saved his money, instead of spending it faster than it came in.

He wished he had kept out of poker and solo and barrooms generally. He wished, in a dumb, shamed way, that he could come to her as clean as she was. But he threw his shoulders back and lifted his head determinedly.

”I'll be good to her,” he determined; ”I'll make her a good husband.”

In the days that followed his devotion was as constant as before, but more intelligent. His whole manner changed and softened. He began to read the books she liked, and to talk about them. He was gentler to everyone, more polite, even to the waitresses, tender and thoughtful of his aunt and sister. Vivian began to feel a pride in him, and in her influence, deepening as time pa.s.sed.

Mrs. Pettigrew, visiting the library on one of her frequent errands, was encountered there and devotedly escorted home by Mr. Skee.

”That is a most fascinating young lady who has Mr. d.y.k.eman's room; don't you think so, ma'am?” quoth he.

”I do not,” said Mrs. Pettigrew. ”Young! She's not so young as you are--nothing like--never was!”

He threw back his head and laughed his queer laugh, which looked so uproarious and made so little noise.

”She certainly is a charmer, whatever her age may be,” he continued.

”Glad you think so, Mr. Skee. It may be time you lost a fourth!”

”Lost a fourth? What in the--Hesperides!”

”If you can't guess what, you needn't ask me!” said the lady, with some tartness. ”But for my own part I prefer the Apaches. Good afternoon, Mr. Skee.”