Part 28 (1/2)
Lowering his paper, he looked at her in surprise.
”What is it, dear?” he asked.
”Nothing, only--I wouldn't go.”
”But I can't get out of it. Dudley made a point of my being there, and I told him to count on me.”
”I am sorry,” she said quietly. ”I don't like Mr. Dudley.”
”Neither do I especially. Still, I saw a good deal of him at one time, and, to-night, he wants to get together the old set. It's sort of a farewell spread, for he starts for Nome, next week.”
”But you had promised the Andersons.”
”Yes, I told Anderson that I would get around in time to mingle my tears with yours over the fifth act. Anderson is such a bore that I couldn't stand a whole evening of him.”
”Then I shall certainly refuse to go,” Beatrix said decidedly.
Lorimer raised his brows inquiringly.
”For any especial reason?”
She had risen from the table, and now she stood looking down at him, a world of disappointed love showing in her dark eyes. She forced herself to smile a little, as her eyes met his.
”I am old-fas.h.i.+oned, Sidney. I don't like going to the theatre with other men than my husband, four months after my wedding day.”
He dropped his paper hastily, and, rising, linked his arm in hers.
”Why, Beatrix dear, I didn't suppose--”
”No,” she said quietly; ”but I wish you had supposed. Still, as long as I found it out in time, there is no great harm done.”
”But with older people like the Andersons,” he urged. ”And I should have been there to come home with you.”
She was silent, and he went on, after a pause,--
”I didn't think of your minding, dear girl. You know that I wouldn't be discourteous to you for anything.”
”Never mind about it now, Sidney. I can telephone to Mrs. Anderson, and it will be all right,” she answered more gently, for she felt the contrition in his tone and it softened her momentary resentment at his calm way of adjusting her convenience and happiness to his plans.
”Mother said Bobby is coming, and possibly Sally Van Osdel. She wanted the four of us to go there for an impromptu dinner such as we used to have.”
”I am sorry, dear.” There was a real note of regret in Lorimer's voice.
”She should have telephoned us earlier.”
”She waited for Bobby's decision. He is the only one of us, you know, who makes even a pretence of being busy. Besides, as late in the season as this, it is generally safe to count on people.”
”Apparently not,” Lorimer returned lightly. ”At least, I seem to be the unlucky exception that proves the rule. I am sorry, for I know your mother's dinners of old. I would break most engagements for them.”
”Why not this?” she urged.
”Impossible. I promised, a week ago.”